PrUK (sometimes also EngPru) Drabbles
by Kornblume Cavalier
Summary: Title says it all: some historical, some in AUs. Main characters and pair: England and Prussia. I mostly write about Prussia , so there will be times where its just a drabble on him and his history. Rated M to be safe. NSFW is a might and prompts are welcome. ON HIATUS BUT I'LL BE ON TUMBLR (Link is in profile, check it out)
1. Kapitel 1

**Background to this one-shot: Semi-historical AU-ish story. Prussia is in his Kingdom years and England's in his Pirate/Empire years.**

**Arthur and Gilbert have been friends since their childhood days; they've grown up almost alongside each other and become powerful empires in their own right. Both have been close to each other almost like siblings and sometimes view each other as a complementary half of a whole. But what if one of them went insane with power and forced the other to a duel? Fight scene is based on the epic duel from Revenge of the Sith, Obi-Wan and Anakin. (Thats why it seems to start from the middle of nowhere. But I hope you readers will enjoy reading it.)**

**I DO NOT OWN HETALIA OR ITS CHARACTERS.**

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Gilbert brought out his own sword and angled it before him, unable to believe that his friend—no his lover had turned into a monster lusting after power. With a long sigh, "I will do what I must. The real Arthur; nein, the true King of the Seven Seas would never do this." Crimson orbs gazed at the sandy blonde sadly; a mixture of regret, heartache and a tinge of grief on his face. Never had the Prussian imagined that their relationship would end up in this way at all; neither did the albino ever want to point his blade at the pirate.

"You will try," Arthur taunted and leapt.

Metal crossed, and the waves around them echoed their sparks with a roar.

Blade-to-blade, they were identical. After hundreds of years sparring and dueling, they knew each other better than brothers, more intimately than lovers; they were the complementary halves of a single warrior. In every exchange, Gilbert tried to give ground—it was his way; and he knew that to strike the Brit down would burn his own heart to ash, Exchanges were given, leaps were sidestepped or met with flying kicks; ankle sweeps skipped over and slashes parried, The albino tried to distract the pirate by tipping over a few barrels: a move made in desperation to slow the latter down as he fought against the maelstrom of emotions within him.

Easily, contemptuously, Arthur avoided the objects flung his way and carried on to battle the Prussian. "Don't make me destroy you, Gil." The sandy blonde's voice had gone deeper than a well and as bleak as a past with no future. "You are no match against the power that I wield now."

"I've heard that before," Gilbert muttered through his teeth, parrying madly, "But I never thought I'd hear it from you." There was a growl and a boot slammed him back into a mast; the impact smashing breath away from his lungs, leaving him swaying, half stunned. Emerald irises burned with triumph and the sandy blonde lifted his blade for the kill, It was only a reflexive spasm in his lungs and sheer luck along with centuries of experience in combat that the Prussian evaded the blow, knocked Arthur's own sword from its owner's grasp and poised both blades in a cross before the pirate. "The flaw of great power is arrogance."

"You hesitate," Arthur mocked. "You dare not kill me. A embodiment of War that fears—weak." The last word rolled on the Brit's tongue, his lips curved in a deranged smile. "The flaw of compassion—"

"It is not compassion," Gilbert answered mournfully. "It is reverence for life. Even the simplest of creatures." A short pause, "Your life as well. The respect for the man you were." Letting out a sorrowful sigh, "It is regret for the man you were and should have been."

The pirate screamed and flew at him, using his body to crash the albino back into the wood once more. His hands seized Gilbert's wrists with impossible strength, forcing his arms wide. "WAR OR NOT, ONLY I WILL RULE THE SEAS!" Dark power bore down with his grip and the Prussian felt the bones of his forearms bending, beginning to feather towards the greenstick fractures that would come before the final breaks, 'Oh,' the albino thought. 'This is going to hurt quite a bit.' With Arthur's grip on his wrists bending his arms near to breaking, forcing both their swords down in a slow but unstoppable arc, Gilbert let go.

Of everything.

His hopes. His fears. His obligations, his promise to Allistair to try and bring his brother back from the madness that had plagued him. His failure with Arthur.

And their swords.

Startled, Arthur instinctively shifted his grip, releasing one wrist to reach for his cutlass; in that instant, Gilbert twisted free of his other hand and caught his own broadsword, reversing it along his forearm so that the swift parry of the Brit's thundering overhand not only blocked the strike but directed both blades to slice through the wood on the opposite side, guiding both blades again up and over his head in a circular sweep so that he could use the power of the Brit's next chop to drive himself away from the mast and back to the open space on the deck.

The sandy blonde followed, constantly attacking; the albino again gave ground, retreating slowly along the poop deck high above the raging waters. The sea crashed with death behind his back, only a moment away, somewhere out there among the watery depths. Gilbert allowed himself to be driven towards it. It was a place; the Prussian decided they should reach there together. Arthur forced him back and back, slamming his sword down with strength that seemed to come from the ocean itself. The Brit spun and whirled, slicing splinters off wood, which rained around the albino. Green light danced on the sandy blonde's fingertips and the wood turned into shards of steel that shot towards the Prussian with the full heat of his fury. The seas turned rough and the weather around them changed to that of a storm. Skies turned a deep murky grey with lightning flashing across the gloomy atmosphere. Cold, biting wind made the masts creak, as if threatening to blow them over like straw.

Gilbert backed to the edge of the balcony and grabbed a loose hanging rope, slicing off the other end of it, the albino shot up to the top gallant yard and parried chop after chop when Arthur brought their duel up to the sails; both their balance perfect despite the small and curved surface area they fought on. Out on the tightrope of the sails yards, their blades blurred even faster than before. They chopped, slashed, parried and blocked—never mind the wind and rain.

This was not good against evil; it had nothing to do with morals, beliefs, duty, religion or philosophy.

It was Gilbert against Arthur.

Personally.

Just the two of them and the damage they had done to each other.

The Prussian back flipped from the yard into the cow's nest; when the pirate flew in pursuit, Gilbert leapt again. They spun and whirled along the sails; battled out onto the main topsail yard over which the thunderstorm poured, and the albino, out on the edge of the wooden beam, deflected blows and countered strikes from the creature of rage that had been his friend and more.

The man he faced was everything that he had devoted his life to destroying: murderer, traitor…and yet despite it all, at this moment and now…

Gilbert still loved him.

"Arthur," Gilbert implored, slight desperation and plea in his voice. "I don't want to fight you. Arthur, bitte—"

Arthur sprang at him, screaming without words; he could not know if the Brit had heard him. The albino could not know if language still had meaning for the other.

The Prussian backpedaled, parrying frantically, absorbing the shock of the pirate's attacks with bent arms and a two-handed grip. He was taller than the Brit, with more reach and weight, and more muscle in his upper body than the latter, but Arthur drove him back as though he were a child. The cutlass finally struck through his guard, and only a frantic jerk of his head turned what would have been a deadly thrust into a line of red along his cheekbone.

Still he did not strike back.

"I do not wish to kill you," Gilbert said, his crimson eyes narrowed with determination and trying to see through the rain.

His answer was a scream louder and more savage and an onslaught to match. The Brit broke through his guard again and almost severed off his hand. Another stroke cut through his pants leg just above the knee. With each slash and thrust, Gilbert could feel himself slipping into the welcoming darkness that brought out his warring nature. He had to as much as he loathed it; Arthur was coming in too strong, too fast, and too aggressive. If the Prussian was to survive, he had to give more of himself to his lust for war and battle—to give all of himself.

To sink into his dreams of a blood drenched field littered with the bodies of his enemies.

The pounding of his heart thudded like war drums in his ears, turning into canons as the fight drew on. The drums turned to canons, as loud and brutal as any of the weapons of his artillery.

He felt it: he had reached his own limit and he was breaking.

It was the worsening storm raining down on them that distracted the two; skidding, desperately scrabbling for handholds as the wooden beams they once stood on steadily became dangerous, slippery cliffs; they hung from the ropes that attached the man topsail to the yard that held it in place. Arthur kicked off from the mast, swinging through a wide arc over the stormy seas. Gilbert shoved out and clashed against the Brit there, holding the rope with one hand, he angled his sword high. The pirate flicked a slash at the Prussian's knees—the latter responded in kind by yanking his legs high and slashed through the rope above Arthur's hand, and the sandy blonde fell.

The broiling waves gouted sprays of salty water, like arms reaching to pull the Brit into the murky depths. However, Arthur's momentum had already swung back towards the mast, and using a bit of magic, carried himself within reach of another length of rope. Gilbert whipped his legs around his rope, altering its arc to bring him closer to the one from which Arthur now dangled. But the pirate was on to this game now, and he swung rope-to-rope ahead of the Prussian's advance, carrying himself higher and higher, forcing Gilbert to do the same; on this terrain height was everything.

Then, by simultaneous leaps of their own; the two of them spun up and off the ropes to the slant of the spanker sail yard. The albino barely got to his balance on the tilted platform when Arthur pounced on him and they stood almost toe-to-toe, blades whirling and crashing on all sides, while around them Nature's forces whipped and lashed at them with cold droplets of ice-cold water. A resounding howl of the wind damaged several sails and the ship groaned like a strong beast brought to its knees. It keeled sharply on its side, as if threatening to capsize.

Gilbert decided to bring the duel back to the decks; he turned Arthur's blade aside with a two-handed block and landed a solid kick that knocked them both apart. Before the Brit could recover his balance, the Prussian took a running leap that became a half suicidal and yet graceful dive headlong off the spanker sail yard. He hurtled down towards the hard wooden floorboards; it was only a few meters above the poop deck that he grasped a rope and turned his dive into a swing that carried him high and far, to the very limit of the thick cord and let it go.

As if jumping from a branch of a tall tree in the forests he grew up in; his velocity sent him flying up and out over a catenary arc that shot him towards the forecastle. Gilbert flipped in t the air and landed like a cat on the flooring. Turning, he lifted his head in time to see Arthur hurtling towards him: the pirate's cutlass poised to stab right through the other's heart from the back—

Half a second too slow.

The Prussian's whirl to parry did not meet the sandy blonde's blade. It met the latter's knee. Then his other knee as well.

And while Arthur was still in the air, slashed off limbs only starting their topple down the wooden floor that Gilbert stood on, the Prussian's recovery to guard brought his blade though the pirate's left arm above the elbow. He stepped back as the other fell.

Arthur dropped his sword and screamed, "I hate you swine of a man!" His voice dripping with venom, the Brit spat murderously.

Gilbert looked down. It would be a mercy to kill him.

He was not feeling particularly merciful at the moment; as nations, they could easily heal from any fatal injury. What was more, Arthur was an empire at its height; even with the loss of his limbs, he would be able to regenerate them in a day at most.

Death would give his friend and lover a second chance; a clean slate to start from.

With that thought in mind, the albino stabbed Arthur's heart, piercing through cloth, flesh and bone. "I…I do not ask for my redemption. Or your forgiveness." Swallowing, forcing himself to remain impassive, "all I want, is for you to come back…"

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**A/N: Well, leave a review or PM. Favourites and Follows would be most appreciated and flames will be used for a 'Skywalker' moment on England. (*coughs* I was joking. I'm not going to burn Captain Arthur Kirkland and then stuff his remains in some cybernetic life support suit it would be screwed.) But yes, I would really prefer to get constructive criticism and honest opinion than rude comments. Do check out my other Fics if you want to!**

**The background is actually loosely based on history. Where before the formation of Germany in 1871, Britain was often allied in wartime with Prussia; examples like the Seven Years War, Dutch Crisis in 1787 and the last Napoleonic war (Battle of Waterloo being the most prominent). That and most importantly, the Anglo-Prussian convention which was a pact to stall any kind of continental war and also maintain the European Balance of Power. Basically, Britain would pay Prussia an amount to build their economy and country. But Prussia ****would face the brunt of European warfare while Britain focused on their colonies. **


	2. Kapitel 2

**I do not own Hetalia or the characters**

18th June 1815: Battle of Waterloo

"God is with us now."

Arthur turned his head towards the voice—the Duke of Wellington, commander of his rag-tag team of 24,000 men—inclusive of troops from the Netherlands, Hanover, Brunswick and Nassau, now most likely less than the original number given the tide of the war. The sandy blonde raised a thick, bushy eyebrow at the remark and answered in a tone that suggested mild curiosity and cynicism, "so it seems. Either that or he must be playing with us like a child with an anthill" He found it odd that such a sentence would be used in this situation. Or more rather, that there was someone who still held belief at such a time, nation avatar or not.

This was the War of the Seventh Coalition: on Napoleon's return to power, the powers at the Congress of Vienna declared that Corsican an outlaw. In short, the United Kingdom, Prussia, Russia and Austria decided to put away their mutual animosity and form an alliance to mobilize their troops and get rid of that insufferable man once and for all. The unfortunate part in the whole issue was that most of Arthur's seasoned veterans of the Peninsular War *(1804-1814) were still busy in the War of 1812. In addition to that, Gilbert's own forces were in the midst of a restructuring—ever since the fiasco of 1806 at the Battle of Jena-Aurstedt, the Prussian had never been more fervent and neurotic over stopping the rise of French Imperialism in Europe.

Just two days prior, the Battle of Ligny resulted in a French victory: a tactical win, but strategic loss. The Brit had initially swore his gut out and was ready to vent his spleen on the messenger that had delivered the news; it meant that his chances of a full out fight was as good as blown and the sandy blonde would have to pull back and be on the defensive—not what Arthur enjoyed in a war against his most hated rival.

Then he realized what the albino was up to, as well as the opening their adversary had left out, an Achilles heel that would bring the fall of the Corsican and his ambitions. The Prussians were uninterrupted during their retreat and most importantly; they had not fallen back onto their own lines to the East.

Gilbert was moving his men parallel to Arthur's line of march and still within supporting distance. The sandy blonde was not abandoned to face Francis' forces alone; 24,000 inexperienced men against 51,000 battle-hardened soldiers was madness and as good as suicide. Yet, at the moment, the Brit wondered if it was only false hope he was clinging onto. It was late noon, almost close to evening and yet the Prussian forces were still nowhere to be seen.

To be honest, the nation avatar could not entirely blame the other for deciding to back out at the last moment. How many times did Arthur himself break off an alliance the moment it seemed unprofitable or once he felt that the other party was a liability and of no gain to his effort at expanding his overseas empire?

Too many times to count.

Except that Gilbert never seemed to be bothered by the fact that alliances could be broken or that friends could suddenly turn in a second and stab you in the next. In all fairness, switching sides and backstabbing in such relations was nothing new in the arena known as European politics. The difference was that the sandy blonde found another person, who did not seem to hold grudges, was willing to take that game to a higher level and actually reveled in its unpredictability.

Of course, the Brit had no intention of breaking his alliance with the Prussian not after how he realized that the former priest had a wrathful side, which could bring down entire nations if he wanted to. The two nation avatars had been acquainted since their early preteen years, Arthur had been a pirate and building his empire while Gilbert was a priest and his nation was still a small fief. It had never come across to the sandy blonde that the albino would someday actually become a military power.

Then things changed in 1748 where the War of Austrian Succession ended with the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle—a treaty that forced the other nations to acknowledge Prussia, now a kingdom with a military no one believed could have come from the once weak and broken state who had an estimated 60% of his population lost to famine and plague.

It was not the only surprise that would come from the albino avatar.

'If that wanker could show up any moment now, I would be most grateful.' Arthur growled mentally, swallowing down the pain and exhaustion that was setting in due to the casualties of the battle around him. Hopelessness and fear were the worst enemies to have on a battlefield, but as much as the sandy blonde tried to push the two away, the Brit knew that in spite of the dogged resistance of his men, they were exhausted and spent. It would not be long before the sun set and the defense of his people would give way—the French cavalry was in full spate and reinforcements were nowhere in sight.

Just as the situation looked dire for him, Arthur spotted a sudden change in the tide of the battle, a welcoming change.

Emerald eyes caught a familiar sight in the distance—lips curled back in a snarl, crimson eyes shining with a devilish light, mad, wild laughter ringing out over screams—

The Prussian avatar had kept his promise after all.

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**A/n. I forgot about this part (I am truly sorry but yes I have changed my previous one shot into a series of drabbles and short stories. Feel free to send in prompts if you want.) Most importantly, I didn't input in historical background. So, here are the facts behind this drabble:**

**16th June, 1815: the Prussian forces under the leadership of Gebhard von Blücher were defeated by the French due to confusion from the restructuring of the Prussian army. It was a tactical win for the French but a strategic loss as they failed to totally destroy the Prussian army which in turn led to the Prussians being able to assist the British forces camped out in defensive at Waterloo. This was also Napoleon's last victory in battle.**

**Battle of Jena-Aurstedt: on 14th October 1806, the Kingdom of Prussia; most of it, was subjugated to the French Empire. These twin battles practically made the Kingdom of Prussia a satellite state of the French Empire. However, it is also because of the harshness of the treaty forced onto the Prussians, that the RUSSIANS turned against the French and hence eventually led the way for Prussia to gain back its territory in 6 years time (along with many reforms in government)**

**18th June, 1815: actually the whole fic is historically accurate for this date with the exception of inserting in Hetalia characters. The bulk of the British forces were fighting the War of 1812. And Duke Wellington said it himself that the 24,000 men he led were "an infamous army, very weak and ill-equipped, and a very inexperienced staff"**


	3. Kapitel 3

**I do not own Hetalia or its characters.**

**_Seven Deadly Sins (EngPru/Pruk) PART 1_**

**Luxuria (Lust)**

For all the calm and collected behavior that made Arthur the perfect British gentleman as well as his abrasive and calculating nature as a pirate, the Brit had a rather infuriating and complex issue at hand. At the surface, it was not the most difficult problem he had ever come across in his long life as a nation avatar. Yet, no matter he tried to rid himself of his obsession, the sandy blonde's thoughts always found a means to bring his attention back to his _sinful_ dreams.

Granted, Arthur had become more or less jaded to religious fervor—living for centuries did that; after so many wars, as well as civil conflicts in the name of religion, the pirate had started to lose his faith in providence a little. It also probably did not help that the sandy blonde was more likely to break every single rule of the church than to actually follow them to the book; they were just guidelines after all. Besides, the rules that applied to humans did not fully apply to a nation avatar: he could not die, and hence, could not be damned to hell in a sense.

However, here he was feeling queasy and frustrated over his fantasies that popped up in his head every moment he closed his eyes.

_Soft, cherry pink lips pressing against his rougher ones gently, pale, milky-white skin slightly flushed from the heat of the water, crimson eyes speaking with unspoken words that were meant to calm panicked emerald irises that a bath would not drown a person…_

Arthur felt his cheeks colour furiously; he could feel his blood rushing right up to his head, the heat building up within him as if he was suffering from a fever—the pirate was, technically—a fever of mental kind and gave him delusions and an irrepressible crave; a strong and overwhelming need to _possess_ a certain 'wife-like' albino who was currently a priest and a fellow nation avatar of all things.

Gilbert would most likely kill him on knowing the perverse thoughts going through his mind each time his eyes saw the albino carrying out his duties as a cleric; whether it was watching the silver haired man care for the patients in the infirmary, hearing him sing in the chorister, working on the vegetable garden, praying…it was hard to squish the unholy images that were spawned in his mind. The pirate had to resist with every fibre of his being to not claim the Prussian as his right there and then when he saw the albino kneeling at the pew, hands folded and a peaceful look on his face as prayers were murmured softly. The soft light shining into the room from the window gave the priest a halo of sorts, making him look even more stunning—almost breathtakingly beautiful like an angel. (Although Arthur knew that the cleric did have his moments of violence)

The pirate had no idea when did this exact desire to…well…in very basic terms, fuck the priest senseless. Their first few interactions with each other had not been entirely pleasant and once, when Arthur had somehow caused Gilbert to snap at him, the language that the albino had spouted was hair raising enough—at least those the sandy blonde had understood; the ridiculously talented man had sworn in a mix of Latin, Germanic Latin, German, Prussian and another which he did not catch but was most likely Old Prussian.

But, Arthur supposed his desire that had been there for a while was exponentially exacerbated when the priest decided to help him get rid of his fear of drowning. At least, suppress the fear enough to make the Brit take a bath.

_"Gott im Himmel. I don't care if you fear water for whatever reason, but at least take a bath! You reek to high heaven!" Lips twisted in a scowl, a vein could be seen at the priest's forehead as he retorted down his aggravating patient's words on how water would kill them both._

_"I refuse to and I do not reek to high heaven. It is natural for me as an island nation to smell a little like the ocean. Besides, you smell of blood, death and war half the time—what do you think you are doing?" Bushy eyebrows were raised in a quizzical expression along with a dash of incredulity; as well as a not altogether unpleasant shiver travelled down the pirate's spine when emerald hues caught sight of the albino's hands undoing the buttons of the black cassock, showing off previously concealed pale skin._

_"Since you are behaving like a child who fears bathing due to the thought that they would drown, I am going to be the parent who takes the bath with them in order to show that baths are not dangerous." Stripping himself of his clerical robes, Gilbert ignored the look on the other's face and got into the tub of warm water once he was fully undressed. Once the Brit was in and seemed almost ready to flounder in panic, the albino leaned forward to give a harmless peck on the forehead when at the last moment, fate decided to have Arthur move his head up and the Prussian's lips met the Brit's—_

_Emerald eyes had drank in the sight of seeing the parts of the albino which were always hidden away by the simple and drab robes which nicely emphasized the latter's slender frame and hips. He was not painfully gaunt, but lanky enough to show that he did not have much of a chance to eat as much as he needed to have a strong build. The lean muscles that his toned, albeit thin body suggested that he had been through training before, as was still every bit a good fighter if the need to pick up a sword arrived. Arthur wondered at the back of his mind absently—musing on several questions: what would the Prussian's face be like contorted in pleasure, would the haughty albino moan and beg while writhing in ecstasy, was the priest's skin as soft and smooth as it looked…his imagination brought him to a few graphic scenes and sounds so vivid the pirate almost believed them to be real._

Snapping himself out of that memory, reality gave him a slap to the face in the form of the sandy blonde almost submerging his head in the lukewarm water of his bath. The pirate cursed when he noticed where had his mind left his present self as well as the unnoticed stiffness of his manhood.

Heart pounding, his throat felt dry as he pleasured himself; each stroke and touch sending him closer to completion as his mind projected the sole object of that haunted his mind day and night being dominated and writhing underneath him. It was just a lie however, even though the sandy blonde gained momentary relief after sending himself into a pleasured haze—all of his dreams were just an illusion cooked up in his mind to satisfy his carnal appetite and wild want.

**Superbia (Pride/ Hubris)**

_"The never-ending pride of the machine, does not realize the spilling sands of time"_

_1947, February 25th _

_Freistaat Preußen officially ceases to exist._

_But even before that, in 1932, the 'country' Prussia was already no more…_

Shifting through the stack of documents, war weary emerald eyes skimmed through the text, ignoring most of its content, as they were already familiar with majority of it. Arthur hated having to deal with paperwork; for starters, they never seemed to end—if anything, the Brit swore that the pile was capable of multiplying by itself. Next, he failed to see the need to review every single piece of information on a war when he had directly participated in it as a nation avatar and human.

The sandy blonde let out a sigh and winced as he slowly straightened his back; the ugly wounds he received from the devastating conflict had yet to fully heal—with so much death and destruction that had happened; Arthur sometimes wondered if the deep scars, mental more than physical would ever leave. Even though the conflict had ended, the Brit could never rid himself of the night terrors that stemmed from the long drawn bombing of his capital; the slowly scabbing, deep burn on his skin directly above his heart was proof of the damage sustained.

'Except…despite the bombing of Berlin, and the splitting of his lands, that kraut does not seem to carry any wounds a nation avatar should have.' He frowned, the words in his mind almost a growl when he remembered the blonde German in the room next to the one Arthur was currently occupying.

He was in Germany, living with the nation's avatar along with the others that were occupying the split country, an exception being the Soviet Union, who had decided to take his share of the land and head back to his cold home. As Great Britain, the Brit would have found every way and means to get back to his own mansion—even if it was large and lonely, at least he would not have to see the person who had brought the delicate balance of power in Europe to shattered fragments. But as Arthur…

There was no way he could bring himself to, not after what he saw at the meeting that decided the fate of a nation that was technically dead. He just could not leave and pretend that nothing had happened.

_Taunting and jeering at the Allied Control Council, a cruel smirk plastered on his face even as his bones snapped one by one and blood poured out of old and new wounds—_

_The carpet would never be rid of the dark red that had been a massive waterfall from the dying man; it was so quick, so fast and too dark, it was the Prussian's very lifeblood that was bleeding out._

_Yet his words never stopped, not even when sharp and violent hacking fits sprayed more crimson fluid that contrasted ashen, unhealthy skin that used to have a faint pink glow of life in it. Twisted in an expression of hate, not simple hate born from a want for vengeance; hate such that his glare was a weapon by itself, hate to mask over the agony of having his people ripped away and his lands partitioned, hate at the need for someone to blame even if it really was not anyone's fault…_

Guilt had hit him like a fist then. Arthur _felt_ it—a punch to his heart that smacked breath from his lungs and hung on his shoulders like a yoke. As thought an invisible weight beyond his strength as a whole being would crush his life.

He could never rewind time and choose differently. He could never take it back; there was really no such thing as a second chance.

In fact, the Brit was not even sure if he wanted one.

It had been for the best—Arthur told himself, in a bid to ease his own conscience. This time the war had truly gone too far and there was a need to truly address its root and destroy it. Once the underlying cause was gone, there was no need to worry about any recurrence unless someone else decided to revive the 'evil' that was militarist rule and ideals which included expansionism as well as dictatorship.

Yet, why did something seem so wrong and off?

"There I go again, second guessing my own judgment." The Brit muttered, keeping away his finished work, leaving the rest on the table—he was in no mood to deal with them at the moment, not with his mind in a mess and unable to trust himself on decisions made long ago.

_'It's because you will never admit that you are in the wrong. Your pride, though it has made you into the nation that you are, will never accept that you could make a mistake; small or large, your hubris will tear apart even the closest of relationships you forge.'_

Arthur scowled, there was that voice again; the voice that kept whispering doubt and fear in his heart. The sandy blonde hated the feeling of fear and doubt; he was no longer a young and helpless child, why should he be afraid? Was he not the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland?

Except—

Fear lives inside him, gnawing away at the walls he built around his mind. Arthur sometimes imagined the dread that ate at him as a serpent whispering to him, an ancient, cold voice that tormented him ceaselessly. When he was a young nation avatar, alone by himself; the voice often planted in him seeds of doubt that his brothers abandoned him. Even after as a grown nation, the serpent continued to grow within him—each time he felt his own insecurities and fears, the poisonous snake would make itself known.

In bright day he could shut it out; the sandy blonde could forget that it was there. Yet once night came…

It frosted over the walls he built and made cracks in his defenses, allowing the serpent to sneak through the cracks and devour him alive. It reminded him of what he lost and will most likely lose.

_'You know it yourself to be true, and you only have yourself to blame. You're equally evil and steeped in sin—'_

"Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP!"

Arthur swiped the contents on the table to the floor in a fit of rage, adrenaline numbing the dulled protests of his wounds that his sudden action caused. Emerald irises burned with a flame that had not been seen since the days the British Empire was at its height while hot, angry tears slid down cheeks silently, making their mark as wet dots on the floor. His breathing heavy, the Brit closed his eyes and fell back into his seat. It had been a long time since the sandy blonde had felt such fury flooding in his veins; the last time he did, he had coldly ordered quid pro quo for the bombings carried out on his people.

Slowly opening his eyes, the Brit realized that there was one folder, which had not fallen to the floor; it was a list of inmates in Auschwitz under Mengele—the man having been presumed dead; or he would have been sentenced to the Nuremburg Trials for his crimes.

Arthur did not know what prompted him to open up the file; it was just the camp manifest record, a list of nameless people and their crimes that had subjected them to some of the cruelest forms of torture the Brit had ever come across.

His hands trembled as he turned the pages, breathing wavering slightly as he looked through the records—as much as he was a hardened nation avatar and immune to feeling sick at the sight of a gruesome aftermath to a battle, this was just too much.

It was the last page that had sent him running to the bathroom throwing up whatever he had in his stomach.

_Albino. _

_178 centimeters_

_75.5 kilograms_

_Arrested and convicted on multiple counts of espionage, treason and disloyalty to the Fuhrer. Prisoner 63956 is extremely dangerous and should be restrained at all times. Suspected of being 'Little Songbird', crucial Allied spy. Prior to arrest—hid and smuggled out enemies of the state as well as 'undesirables'. _

'But how…its impossible. He could not have been the 'Little Songbird'. Something must have been mixed up—' the sandy blonde screamed inwardly, his mind reeling with the implications of the information. That codename belonged to one of the most effective and secretive spies the Allies had even before the war officially started. No one knew his name or face—a mysterious person who called himself the 'songbird' and delivered precious information as well as slipped enough data to others before the event happened so that preventive measures could take place. It was thanks to him that Matthias, the nation avatar of Denmark; managed to make arrangements with Berwald in order to get his people to safety over to the neutral territory of Sweden.

Except that deep inside, the uncomfortable twist in his gut told him that it was true.

_"You wanted blood to be spilt for this war. It had not mattered whose was it. Even if it did, would you have bothered? You're equally evil; making use of evil to justify vengeance."_

"That is not true." Arthur protested weakly to no one but himself.

_"Really?' The word carried a harsh chuckling tone. "Do you not remember your last conversation with Gilbert in his cell?"_

The sentence brought forth another round of vomit to his mouth—face pale and with a mild shade of green, the Brit coughed weakly and felt his knees touch the cold, tiled floor. His fingers were clenched so tightly around the white porcelain seat that the veins underneath the skin could be seen.

_'I was always your little songbird. From the time I sang to ease your sleep…till now, I have never stopped being your little songbird.' Voice dry and raspy, an unbandaged eye gazed impassively back at twin emeralds that were hardened with a light that had never been shown before—at least not to the gaunt and ailing albino who was seated opposite him in handcuffs._

Berlin; the building that had once been the supreme court of Prussia, loomed in his memory once again—more precisely, the conference that had enforced Law number 46, and all Arthur could _think_ at present, huddled in a corner with his knees drawn up close to his chest:

_"What have I done?"_

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**A/N: This took quite a while to write and also wound up being longer than I intended it to be. *sweats* I suspect its mostly because of the 'Pride/Hubris' part that ended up taking up most of it. Originally I wanted to post all of the seven sins together, but after seeing how long it was going to be I decided to break them up.**

**Luxuria (Lust): this one's pretty obvious and semi-historical AUish with pirate England and priest Prussia so I won't dwell too much on it. I'm sorry if it wasn't up to standards—I'm not very good at writing smut related stuff (even though I have written smut related stuff before)**

**Superbia (Pride/Hubris): This one was really difficult; I'm not kidding, my initial plan was to have them at the height of their power as Empires. However, pride has a positive and negative connotation, so by definition of the deadly sins I had to ramp up the level to Hubris. As a result…well, the portion says it all. In this case both have 'sinned' and have had their "punishment": England as a result of his hubris believes that he can judge correctly and refuses to admit the possibility of being in the wrong/making an erroneous decision. In turn, that hubris would tear apart his relationship when he pushed for punishment; because of overwhelming pride, he can't just take back what he has said or done easily. Prussia on the other hand, because of his own pride/hubris—in the form of refusing to show weakness would lie and never admit the truth. As a result, he ends up suffering as well, albeit rather unfairly.**

**There is quite a bit of history in this part, so I'll just briefly mention a few points:**

**25th Feb 1947: The Prussian state is officially abolished by the Allied Control Council on grounds of militaristic roots, guided by the interests of preservation of peace and security of people and the desire to assure further reconstruction of the political life of Germany on a democratic basis. This was a total irony as Freistaat Preußen was ACTUALLY the LAST democratic state in Germany to fall to Nazism. Not to mention that Hitler had been banned several times from speaking in Prussia as well as the fact that the Nazi party only gained 3.6% of the votes in Freistaat Preußen. Furthermore, three of the signatory powers had, at an earlier time, profited from Prussian militarism: Russia during the turning point of its desperate struggle against Napoleon. Great Britain where Prussia bore the brunt of European warfare so it could focus on the defense and conquering of overseas territory. USA where it was a Prussian who turned a bunch of inexperienced patriots into an army that succeeded in their fight for independence.**

**20th July 1932: Franz von Papen dissolves the Prussian government—the last opposition against the Nazi Party due to civil unrest. After that, Prussia held little to no chance of opposing the Nazi regime in Germany.**

**Mengele/Josef Mengele: Also known as the 'Angel of Death" was the most notorious concentration camp doctor. He was infamous for performing human experiments on prisoners at Auschwitz concentration camp, including children. He was never trialed as he managed to evade capture and flee. (You can read up on him on your own online.)**

**Headcannon used here about Prussia being a spy is based on this fact: "In the resistance against Hitler, Prussian soldiers and Prussian Social Democrats, working in close collaboration had played a leading role"—from the book "The Iron Kingdom-Rise and Downfall of Prussia, 1600s-1947" by Chris Clark.**


	4. Kapitel 4

**I do not own Hetalia or its characters**

**Invidia (Envy)**

_'Of the seven deadly sins, Envy is the worst to have after Wrath.'_

Gilbert found it difficult to understand his frustrating former patient at times.

Insufferable, prideful, obstinate to the point of stupidity—it was hard to describe the British pirate without throwing in curses that should not be found in a priest's vocabulary. However, after having to settle mess that had very nearly started a war; caused by said sandy blonde and not the albino for once, Gilbert had snapped into a rage that had every hair raising as well as anatomically impossible family trees involving animals and several cases of incest spill out from his tongue.

'He deserved it. I shouldn't feel upset over giving him a tongue-lashing—he almost started a war! I'm in no state to fight one, much less start one!' The priest growled inwardly, his anger further increased when he realized that he had upset a bottle of ink onto the parchment he was writing on. Letting out a sigh that was filled with his pent up emotions, the Prussian set to cleaning up the spilt ink and disposing of his work—there was no way of saving it, not with half the paper covered in deep black ink.

Yet, why did his heart sting so much with regret and a whirl of sadness?

'You were too harsh on him—he only meant well.' A calmer, more empathetic voice in him reasoned, trying to douse the flames that had made his temper boil over.

_Earlier in the day:_

_"—Of all the times you had to pick up a fight; what in the world were you thinking?! As much as I hate someone, I would not have killed him over a small matter of having to do more work—you are an absolute idiot, things do not work the same way here unlike at your side of the world!" Each word yelled out with the ferocity of a wounded predator being backed into a corner, Gilbert had finally cooled down enough to revert back to using a common language that both Arthur and he could understand and speak. His breath was ragged from venting his spleen on the Brit; the latter had walked in on seeing the albino being tasked to complete more work by Feliks; nation avatar of Poland—nothing new, seeing that Prussia; Gilbert, was a Polish fief. The only problem was that Arthur had gotten worked up over a rather tense conversation that had resulted in the albino pulling off the Brit from the battered up Pole._

_At another day and time, the priest would have simply sat back and allowed the pirate to give Feliks a good thrashing, but times were different and despite their mutual feelings of animosity, Gilbert could not do as he pleased; slavery in another name and kind. Besides, with the violence Arthur had displayed, even the albino found it in himself to feel pity and horror for his deeply hated rival._

_Feliks' was almost half dead when Gilbert finally managed to pry Arthur away—left eye closed due to the swelling of his puffy eyelid, the right fluttered weakly, no thanks to the dark purple bags beneath it. Warm crimson fluid pooled around the stone floor; strands of hair were glued and mattered with it to the Pole's face, the chances of a concussion being most likely. Long, finger sized contusions glared accusingly against their pale background._

_It took the albino a little over an hour to staunch the bleeding, notify his bosses and get Feliks' back to his own people—nations usually healed faster when they were on home ground than in another land; although it was more to keep a certain bushy browed nation avatar far away before the situation got worse. Poland was a considerably large and strong country at the moment, it would be difficult to kill the man off even if Gilbert really wanted him dead._

_"I could not help it.'_

_If those words were alcohol, they had successfully sent small flames into a conflagration fiery enough to raze a forest to the ground. Another biting remark would have slipped past cherry pink lips had Gilbert not turned to look at the Brit with a glare that was a weapon by itself. As though they were red-hot iron, the priest's eyes had no semblance of their usual mischief or gentleness. However, the harsh gaze softened on seeing sincere and if the albino did not know better; a look of devotion, almost…like love._

_Seated on a wooden chair, a look on his face that said nothing of repentance for almost murdering someone on the church's ground; Gilbert could tell that Arthur was not going to show any form of remorse over his actions—then again, they were nation avatars, taking another's life was inevitable. This time however was wildly different, killing not for the survival of oneself; it was as good as a calculated murder. Granted, the sandy blonde had snapped and hence displayed violence, the point was that he had technically attacked without any provocation to his own citizens._

_It was not a nation avatar against another._

_It was Arthur as a human, personally having a fight and almost killing—brutally injuring another, for no reason._

_Or maybe there was a reason._

_Just that Gilbert had no idea what could have made the self-professed British gentleman do that._

_The priest settled himself onto the chair opposite the pirate; an unsaid permission for the latter to either explain his actions or excuse himself from the small room, blood red eyes observed the sandy blonde carefully, like how a hen would be wary of a snake being too close to its brood of chicks._

_"From the moment I fell for you. Even before then, back when you cared for me as a patient…I have not been able to put you away from my mind." Voice deep and intense, there was an earnest light in his emerald eyes, which bored right through the Prussian. "Now, when I'm with you, I feel as if I am in purgatory. No matter how hard I try, it gets worse whenever I get too close or once I am away—my stomach turns over and my mouth goes dry."_

_Gilbert sat listening in shock and mild amazement at how honestly the Brit was opening up before him, baring his heart though he knew that the other could tear in asunder with a single word. It was truly touching, by frightening all the same. The feeling was similar to having a lion known for its ferocity and strength come toward his hand to be petted and stroked on the head. There was no lie in the other's words; this was no ploy to garner favors—honest and straightforward, it was refreshing to the nation avatar who had to placate and entertain dignitaries and others like himself whose agendas were never always what they seemed._

_"I would gladly do anything you ask."_

_It was here that Gilbert looked away, feeling overwhelmed from such a simple sentence. Several moments of silence slipped by uncomfortably; not that the Prussian did not understand, he understood all too well what Arthur meant. _

_"If…you feel the same way, say so." Arthur prompted._

_Frustrations bubbling over, Gilbert turned on him, "I cannot!" He leaned against the backrest of his chair and struggled to collect himself. "We-We cannot." The priest muttered as calmly as he could. "It is just not possible."_

_"Anything is possible," leaning forward, Arthur answered. "Please—"_

_"You listen," the albino interrupted, his voice sounding more forced than he intended it to be. Ironically, hearing his own denial brought some strength to him; sliding back behind his iron walls of discipline and self-control, "we live in a world where only those who are able to survive have the chance to make it to be a major player in history; as well as not be 'enslaved' to others. Come back to it, Arthur. You're trying to establish your empire; I am only a fief riddled with famine, war and recurring plague. If you follow your thoughts through to conclusion, they will take us to a place we cannot go…regardless of the way both of us feel."_

_"Then you do feel something!"_

_Swallowing hard, "I am not even a proper nation." Gilbert pointed out, the need to deflect attention away from his emotions screaming in full overdrive. "You would be saddled with an unnecessary burden as well as a war with no meaning or purpose—a wasteful loss of precious resources that could be put to better use than fighting over something which is not worth fighting over for from another."_

_Arthur replied without any hesitation, his confidence and boldness catching the other off guard despite the albino's impassive expression. "You want me to be rational."_

_Teeth sunk into his lower lip, it was a wonder how the Prussian did not draw blood from the force._

_"That is something I know I cannot do, believe me, I wish I could control and banish my feelings away, but I cannot." The pirate persisted, eyes wide and honest—had Gilbert never seen how foul tempered and cruel Arthur could be, the priest would have believed him to be a soul who had never harmed another life; or maybe feel that he was a moonstruck lovebird trying to confess his undying love to a sweet flower._

_Sadly, the Brit had chose the wrong person—at least in Prussia's eyes, there was no way this was going to end the way the sandy blonde wanted. 'I do not deserve his affection. He should not have come and I should not allow him to fall even deeper.' _

_"I am not going to give in to this," Gilbert answered with all the conviction he could muster. Jaw clenched tightly, the Prussian knew he had to be the strong one here, for both the sake of their nations as well as themselves as humans. "I have more important things to do than fall in love."_

_The sandy blonde turned away, looking wounded. Gilbert winced inwardly, maintaining a cautiously blank look of a perfect politician under questioning. The Prussian could tell that Arthur was trying to find a way around his resolve, judging by the mix of emotions that were being shown in emerald irises—Arthur never smiled or displayed his feelings outwardly, mostly through his brilliant eyes._

_"It would not have to be that way. We could keep it a secret."_

_"Then we would both be living a lie. One we could never keep up even if we wanted to. I cannot stand having to live half a life—can you? Could you be content, living half a life; a relationship founded in secrecy and kept under covers by lies and deceit."_

_The priest felt his heart ache a little as he gazed at the seemingly defeated pirate; it was never his intention to hurt the prideful man so harshly._

_"No, you are right. It would destroy us."_

_With that, Gilbert watched as the Brit left; a barely visible slump in his posture, the albino wondered briefly to himself: which would destroy him—destroy them both—the action, or the thought?_

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**A/N. This took a long time as I was horrified at how inaccurate the initial writing was and I rewrote it but wound up with this. The main issue was the definition of envy: "Envy" and "Jealousy" are often used interchangeably, but the words stand for two distinct emotions. **

**Jealousy is the result or fear of losing someone or something that one is attached to or possesses to another person.**

**Envy is the resentment caused by another person having something that one does not have, but desires for oneself.**

**Not much history here, but yes, Poland (the Kingdom of Poland) was once a massive and powerful country and Prussia was once a Duchy/ Ducal state under fiefdom. I'm not really happy with how this one turned out: its more of a 'punishment' piece where pirate England's envy got a little out of hand and priest Prussia after chewing him out realises the reason for the outburst. **

**I mostly feel that at this time Prussia; Gilbert would always put his people and himself as a nation first before his feelings as a human or anything that Gilbert himself wishes for. Then again, this is the time period where he was handed quite a lot of crap by surrounding larger kingdoms and empires as well as internal issues. **


	5. Kapitel 5

**I do not own Hetalia or its characters.**

**Lullaby**

_Sometime in the mid 1800s… (Present)_

"Ludwig, its past your bedtime. Why aren't you in bed?" Arms folded across his chest, the elder albino looked at his younger sibling sternly. Crimson red eyes were narrowed with curiosity and slight frustration as he watched the petulant and capricious blond before him—defiant and unwilling to sleep at all. Usually, this was not the case with the child. At a young age, Ludwig had already proved himself to have a stick shoved up his arsch so high up; Gilbert often wondered if anything could be done to loosen it. 'Gottverdamnt…I have to tuck him to bed now and get some sleep myself.' He groaned inwardly, forcing himself to not give in to the adorable puppy look Ludwig was giving him—a face so adorable, it would have melted the heart of any onlooker; maybe even Ivan would have melted into a puddle just seeing it. Sadly, the albino had a war to fight tomorrow and he was in no mood to put up with such behavior. The face-off continued until the boy gave up and mumbled an answer, sounding defeated and his pride very much wounded.

"You will have to speak up if you want me to hear anything that you are saying."

"I can't sleep."

Those three words made Gilbert's world crash around him—if anything; he hated an insomniac Ludwig. The latter would not only be cranky for the entire day, but wear that infamous glare of his as well. Scratching the back of his head, he combed his mind for ideas to put the blond child to sleep. Gin was out of the question and he could not think of any suitable story to tell Ludwig. Then, crazy as it was; he asked a question he never thought he would ask.

"Would you like me to sing you a lullaby?"

Gilbert had not sung for anyone; not for a long time at least, he had been part of the chorister when he was a priest…but ever since he lost his voice, the Prussian hummed to the tune of the melody rather than sing. It was amusing to him; how many of his fellow nation avatars believed that his voice was always the screeching, coarse and husky baritone—never would they have believed or imagined that he could sing angelically, or that the Prussian had a voice that was perfect for singing in the tenor section of the church's choir.

Except one nation avatar of course—that man had heard and seen him sing then.

_'__Has it really been that long?'_ Gilbert mused, subconsciously stroking the soft gold locks of hair on the child's head.

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_1351, Black Death spreads even further into the European Continent._

As more people succumbed to illness, the only thing that kept Gilbert still on his feet was sheer willpower—he was exhausted from staying up almost round the clock to help the increasing number of ailing patients that were admitted into the church's infirmary; there was almost no time to take a rest or sit down, how could there be when the dead piled up in heaps and the ill streamed in waves. The Prussian stumbled off to lean against a wall, his knees felt ready to buckle beneath him and to have to explain what happened was a waking nightmare to the albino. His chest ached—as if several metal bands were tightening his lungs, Gilbert took a while to steady his breathing; was he really so exhausted that he could not even inhale and exhale properly? Shrugging it off as a cause of extreme fatigue, the priest slowly straightened his back and made his way to a room that housed a 'special' patient; a nation avatar.

A painful throbbing headache pounded away at his temples, but Gilbert paid it no heed; not now when the person he cared for deep in the recesses of his heart was hovering between life and death. Placing a thin, frail hand against the wooden door that separated the infirmary wing and the room, crimson eyes noticed that it trembled slightly; the arm attached to it thinner and weaker than before—did he lose that much weight? The Prussian wondered; feeling surprised at the change in his own body. In any case, Gilbert made sure to close the door properly after he entered—there was need for anyone else to know that even nation avatars could take ill and so seriously as well, or that there was another nation avatar in a land that was unrelated to it.

Taking a seat in the simple, sturdy chair by the bed, Gilbert finally shed his mask of stoicism—ruby eyes weary and filled with worry; they gazed at the figure lying on the bed.

Skin taking on a paler tone, a bluish tint was visible on his lips, Arthur Kirkland; the nation avatar of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, a feared pirate and King of the Seven Seas was severely ill with plague. It had not been the first type; Francis, the human avatar of France was unfortunate to have had it—Arthur's was the second type, the one that affected his lungs. Gilbert had heard of the plague reaching the sandy blonde's lands but he had never expected it to affect the nation avatar itself so badly; the man was at sea when it happened and he had no choice but to make port at the Prussian's home.

The man was in the pink of health when he first arrived, but in just a few days, things started to turn for the worse and Gilbert had to send the Brit to the infirmary; at least, it was where the Prussian could get medical supplies easily and also where he spent most time in the church as a medic.

In spite of his efforts, the sandy blonde's condition did not seem to be improving—the albino did not believe in some of the methods to treat a patient; for the love of Gott, some of them even without trying sounded lethal enough for Gilbert to simply put away in a far corner of his mind—no, the Prussian believed in logic and seeing that the only course of action he could take to prevent any unwanted mishap was to give the ill pirate bed rest, ample fluids to prevent dehydration. He had also gone his way to ensure that the pirate was clean; in Gilbert's experience, cleanliness and a good sense of personal hygiene was more effective in staying healthy than trying to ward off sickness with all sorts of…_superstitious belief._

_"Its not as if anyone would believe me…demon of the church, evil in a human form…they may say what they like. But I will be damned to hell first before anyone attempts those insane 'cures' on Arthur." Gilbert had muttered angrily to himself when he witnessed and protested against the means the others were using on the poor patients. Granted the pirate was a nation avatar and would not die so easily, there was no need to force his soul in and out of his body like some rag doll. That, and having one's soul forced back into their body was equivalent to the pain one experienced from being burned alive slowly and still unable to die from the former action._

A faint stir from the Brit caught Gilbert's attention—just as well, or the Prussian would have wallowed into a darker side of his mind. The pirate was still unconscious, but his temperature did not spike which was a relief to the albino: the Brit's condition at its worse had the priest trying to bring down the man's high temperature, cleaning away blood that had been coughed up as well as making sure that Arthur did not choke on his own vomit. Shifting the man to ease his breathing, Gilbert could make out Arthur's whimpers and soft cries; a nightmare or a horrible memory, the albino felt it was more likely to be the latter: Arthur had tears streaming down his cheeks and his face was twisted in a heart wrenching expression of old grief that never fully healed.

"Mother…no…please, you promised…"

On another day, the albino would have laughed and teased the pirate for being a mother's little boy—for all the Brit's bravado and calling Gilbert a 'wife-like, feminine priest', here he was pleading for his mother to not leave him like a toddler. But the Prussian could not and would never bring it up: Gilbert could sense what that memory was about and as much as it was good material for blackmail, the albino was not that heartless.

Arthur was dreaming of the death of Britannia, his predecessor and mother—he had witnessed her death at the hand of Rome in a fateful battle; a mere toddler at that time, the sandy blonde could only watch a foreigner deliver a mortal wound to his beloved parent.

By this point, the albino simply cradled the bedridden pirate gently and sang. It was nothing close to a lullaby; it was a requiem—yet, did it really matter when the sandy blonde only seemed to respond positively to it?

_"You're not just like a little bird. You are a songbird."_

_'If that is so, then I will sing for you whenever you want or have a need for it.'_

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_(Back to present)_

"…Ich hab dich lieb…"

Crimson irises looked down at the sleeping figure on the bed and smiled. A genuine true smile, not the smirk he so often wore or the twisted sneer he displayed towards others. Tucking the child in properly, he bent down to give a small peck to the blonde's forehead before leaving the room. Centuries had passed, but Gilbert never forgot; he could not even if he wanted to: emerald eyes that never shone with horror and guilt continued to haunt him, their shock like a brand seared into flesh.

_"Gilbert, love...your voice...can you speak...? Say something! Please..."_

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**A/N.: Not one of the Seven Deadly sins, but this popped up into my head and refused to go away, so I wrote it out. I have 'Sloth' and 'Gluttony' half done though—reason being is that the 'Sloth' piece has a LOT of History put into it so I need more time to iron out several things. **

**Not much History here, but it is a headcanon of mine that little Arthur witnessed his dear Mother being killed right in front of him: Roman conquest as well as the invasion of the British Isles. But yes, England got the plague before Prussia did so; I decided to have a priest taking care of a pirate moment. Of course, I didn't say I would let the albino off…he is already showing the first few symptoms of pneumonic plague…oops. In any case, I always felt that Prussia is bound to follow logic than popular choice in matters dealing in life and death so he would reject those questionable treatments and prescribe methods that are non lethal to the patient.**

**I hope you all enjoyed reading this and leave a review or prompt. XD**


	6. Kapitel 6

**I don't own Hetalia or its characters.**

**Heart**

"The decision was made; on the left side of my chest, I placed my hand and thrust in deeply…."—Heartbeat clock tower, Gear's sacrifice to save the Clockwork Doll.

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It was not easy to wake up every day and face the decisions one made, especially for a nation avatar—most of the time Gilbert woke up wanting to give himself a good slap or bang his head against a wall.

But. There were decisions that he never regretted, or at least not as much as compared to the others…

'He will someday destroy you.'

'Can you not sense it? That child will take your place.'

A smile, wistful and with an almost parental touch crossed the attractive and handsome features of the albino's face—an expression rarely shown except in moments where Gilbert allowed himself respite from a boisterous, rambunctious cover that people took at surface value to be his true personality. After all, it was easier to seem like a blustering fool and then reveal a calculating, cold and precise mind; judging between being serious all the time and playing an idiotic fool, the Prussian felt that giving a more 'obtuse' image was the lesser of two evils. In any case, he was no longer a major power with a military that was feared throughout the continent. That and it was now his brother's job to play the poster boy, the role model nation and also the person 'Prussia' could never be.

Gilbert looked at his calendar; he was due for a small tea party with Arthur—the Brit had insisted on having one; something about chatting over tea, or about his roses that had finally bloomed, the Prussian did not really bother to take note as he knew that Arthur meant talking about something else other than what he mentioned over the phone.

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"I have been meaning to ask you something."

Raising an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile on his face, the albino asked his question silently; it was only in private moments like this that he revealed a different facet of himself—after all, given his history with the Brit, the latter would have understood what he was trying to convey. His hand reached for a strawberry jam tart; contrary to popular belief, Arthur was fairly good at baking, it was only a select few confections that the Brit had trouble with—the lumps of coal that were meant to be scones were a notorious example.

"You came here…didn't you? At that time, I never realized, but you came and—and you—" If the words were a fishbone stuck in his throat, Arthur was choking on them, the prideful sandy blonde was acting worlds apart from his customary cool and aloof exterior—he was baring his inner feelings for the other to see. The hand that was holding a china teacup shook a little; it would have gone unnoticed if one had not paid attention to the shaking movement of muscle. Or, those emerald irises, which always shone with a clear light, were swirling with a maelstrom of emotion.

Silence lapsed between the two; crimson eyes partly mournful, Gilbert only needed to don on his old cassock to look almost like his younger priestly self—lips curved in a soft, gentle gradient that belied a tinge of sadness behind it, gaze penetrating in a way that seemed to peer into another's soul—not harshly, akin to a person taking a book from a shelf and reading its contents. Voice a soft murmur, "even if I did, does it matter? It is over. Nothing can be done to change it."

Shaking his head, the Brit answered in an even tone, "it was not a question of why; reason—sense, consequence never seemed to be part of your thinking when deciding on a course of action."

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December 29th, 1940: The worst raid of London happens during the Blitz.

Close to death, just hovering mere millimeters from fading away; Arthur mimicked a stillness only corpses on a blood watered plain had. The only thing that set the sandy blonde apart from a dead body was the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest, as well as the harrowing expression of pure agony and the flush on his face that signified a high temperature. He felt as if he was floating between reality and dream, a gooey mess of colour and light danced behind his closed eyelids—sometimes flashes of what was happening showed in his head; London being bombarded: the ground shook from the constant explosions, buildings were engulfed in flames; hungry, burning licks consumed whatever they could, spreading their fierce desire to devour and grow. The sky was red; as if Hell itself had came to earth, the piercing cries that tore at his mind—the Brit could not tell if they were the bloodthirsty wolves of his childhood, or the screeches of birds, or if the very source of the shrieking were of his people—threatening to drive him to madness.

Next to him, standing rather than taking a seat; Gilbert was a sepulchral effigy—ruby eyes weary with an exhaustion that rivaled even the time of Black Death and the Thirty Years' War, the albino himself was in a condition suggesting that the only reason why he was still standing was because he was held in place by stiff and tight bandages. The Prussian had used his abilities as a nation avatar to travel from Berlin to London: ever since 1932, Gilbert was made to take up residence in that place; even though Königsberg was the heart of his people—and his as well since the time of the Teutonic knights. Fortunately for the albino, he did not come across any trouble in trying to search for the Brit—it was not difficult to for an avatar to sense another personification's 'signature' amongst other humans; like a beacon of light glowing away in the dark. However, the Prussian almost went into a panic attack when he felt the sandy blonde's signature fade; heart hammering in his chest, Gilbert had practically ran without care of his surroundings: there were several things could cause that to happen, none of them pleasant. Either Arthur was dead and his soul was out of his body, or he had been so severely wounded due to the deaths of his people that his bond with them was broken. Worst of all was ceasing to exist entirely, fading from subsistence—Gilbert had witnessed it too many times in his long life: his father—Aestii, Germania, his elder twin who had been 'West Prussia' and lastly, Holy Rome.

Aestii had left him when he was still a toddler; Gilbert sometimes could remember snippets of his early days, but he never had much chance to interact with the elder so there was almost no grief over the passing. Shock and fear that he could someday disappear as well, but there was no overwhelming sadness.

Germania had adopted him after the Teutonic Knights claimed Gilbert as one of their own—while they did not seem to have a close parent-child bond outwardly, the albino somehow knew that the stern, aloof blonde did care for him the best he could in his own way. Even if it was seemingly harsh and not a very warm sort of love; the only time the Prussian remembered receiving an embrace was when he had returned from a crusade—a child, wearing robes and chainmail that had been splattered with dried, crusted crimson stains; Gilbert had been wading in knee-deep blood, blood that would haunt him for years to come, blood that would mold him into the very person he was.

His 'foster parent' died in front of his very eyes, stabbed by a dying Rome with a poisoned dagger in the back. Gilbert did not have much time to mourn; he had to deal with the sudden change of playing ground—without an older nation avatar to take care of him and his siblings, they would now have to fend for themselves against invasions. The albino chose to leave than stay together with them; he was not an original part of the family in the first place.

His elder twin—a sister nation avatar, who came into his life when he was a ducal state…

She perished in a war Gilbert would never forget; neither would he be able to fully forgive the nation avatar that killed her. How he had mourned…there were no words for his grief, the anguish at having been just seconds too late…

Holy Rome faded away despite his best efforts—even after taking on all the effects of the war that affected the young blonde, all Gilbert did was prolong the coma the latter was in for little over a month.

The only 'good scenario' that might have happened was that Arthur was under heavy drugs, constant sedation or a large dosage of morphine coursing through the system of a nation avatar was enough to blur their life signature or put them into a false death.

It was by good fortune that it was the latter—hooked to a morphine drip; the sigh of relief that had escaped Gilbert's lips was filled with an indescribable mash of feeling. One part joy that the Brit was still alive albeit barely, one part regretful for being unable to do anything much—he blamed his days as a priest and a medic for feeling as such, seeing that they were on opposite sides. Then again, Prussia technically ceased to exist years ago; therefore he was in a sense, not bound to the need to adhere so strictly to the whole mess unless it threatened his people directly, per say an invasion from the Soviet Union. Another part of him felt guilt, a helplessness fueled by failure; a failure to have taught his sibling better, failure to act when he had the chance, failure to have prevented the entire clusterfuck that ate young men alive and spat their ground bones back out in a meat grinder called war.

There was a dull ache in his heart—an unpleasant feeling of corruption that seemed to foreshadow a painful truth—war would reach him, and soon he would have his turn of being bombarded; in light of so much death, it was obvious that even people who were dragged into the chaos unwillingly would bear its brunt. Death came for all eventually, it was a question of where and when.

"Punishment never suits the victim of the crime."

"Yes, it doesn't. But are you sure you are a victim? Or are you partly to blame for the plight he is in at the moment?"

Swallowing hard, Gilbert had to admit that it was true: he had not done enough to stop the gears of war from making its inevitable march that led to this day; he was equally guilty, if not more so for inaction.

Which was why he was here today.

It was not enough; there would never be enough penance for his sin.

To share the effects of war…Taking on another avatar's suffering was nothing new to Gilbert. He took on the brunt of wars for his beloved siblings—even now, he did so for Ludwig, hence his injuries. For Arthur, back to when they were close allies, he too took a fair portion of the wounds that would have been the Brit's.

"Forgive me…But it is all that I can do for now." The Prussian murmured, running his fingers through the unconscious man's hair.

'I will not stand by and watch another fade in front of me again.'

Eyes burning, the albino could smell the vile smoke that was choking the Brit's lungs, the foul, acrid stench Gilbert remembered inhaling numerous times as a child—tied to a stake and left to burn, that memory replayed itself in his mind in a flash before disappearing to show a different scene.

The horizon of the city was lined with great fires-possibly hundreds of them. Flames crackled—a dry laugh whilst they danced their way around in fiery passion; the albino could feel and hear Arthur's people; the distant yells of firemen: no doubt trying to douse the bigger fires before they could cause any trouble, the wave of planes passing by: motors grinding, gunshots could be heard intermittently over minutes and seconds; sharp, soft and muffled, they were everywhere. Whole batches of incendiaries fell, combusting with a flash and simmering to pinpricks of white where a yellow flame would burst out—akin to a jester dancing on a ground studded with sharp stakes, it leapt over to perform its wild steps and pull in others along with it.

He could feel fear—no; taste, smell and hear it around him—in the form of cries of terror and shock, from stunned survivors that had barely missed Death's scythe, from the injured and the dying…

However, Gilbert could also feel hope and compassion; people who went out of their way to help the wounded, unnamed heroes who quickly put out the sparks before another firestorm could add on to the onslaught, as well as ordinary citizens: due to the ruptured water mains, men worked the pumps while women drove petrol carriers, canteen vans and staff cars into the thickest parts of the blaze, ensuring that the pumps had fuel to keep going—even if it meant risking their lives to the inferno.

Despite the suffering, in spite of the blinding pain coursing through him, the Prussian smiled softly—in the deepest night, there was always hope—people would still move on and walk ahead even if that was all they could do. Even if, they would die someday, humans had a tenacity that simply refused to be crushed easily.

Careful to keep most of the negativity but not all of it; Gilbert did not want the sandy blonde to know what he had done—granted, it was despicable of him, but there was a war going on; duty always came first for soldiers, just as their own citizens always came first for nation avatars. To do otherwise, to put aside duty for personal emotion and relationships was to ask for destruction, and selfishness, which had much larger implications and consequence.

Once done, Gilbert took a long shaky breath before exhaling. The Prussian winced, new and old wounds protesting against the tiny movement—it took all of his willpower to not make so much as a squeak and alert anyone who might be close by; having to explain what was he doing here of all places was equivalent to invading Russian in the thick of winter without proper winter wear to him. Pale lips curved into a small smile when crimson irises saw the peaceful countenance on the sandy blonde; the fever was still there, but instead his eyebrows scrunched up in excruciating, mind shredding pain, they were more relaxed and only gave the Brit a look of discomfort and mild relief. Just in time as well, the planes were gone and the fires were finally extinguished.

Staying on for just a few more minutes, Gilbert allowed himself a brief moment of quiet joy: with the way the future was playing out, it did not take a fool to know that such fleeting emotions would be harder to find or gain.

'May we meet again…hopefully on better times.'

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Present day

"I do not regret having done that." Gilbert answered, "it is the same reason why I decided to take in Ludwig despite knowing that I would be replaced." Picking up his teacup, he sipped the warm liquid, allowing its refreshing taste to go over his taste buds before swallowing.

A snort, "you should learn to be more conceited than selfish in that sort of way. Then again, even after all that happened, you still said that whatever you went through…even if it was someone you hated to the core, you wouldn't wish it on them." Thick eyebrows scrunched in a frown, emerald eyes showed the unexpressed sigh of frustration; Arthur watched the other with irritated amusement—the feeling similar to seeing a cherished friend remaining their same old self despite the wheels of time.

The Prussian laughed, a sound of carefree delight, it was a true laugh of happiness. "Were you not the one who told this to me centuries ago? While the darkness in our hearts may seed cruelty into justice, contempt into compassion and poison love with grains of doubt…it is our choices and words that bring a candle to hold back that darkness in the hearts of others and vice versa. Those good choices stem from an underlying strength within us and come in many forms, but it is the same thing."

"…I can't believe that you actually remembered it."

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Christmas Eve, 1914

"…Humans were made with love and hate in their hearts. As a result all we can do is just watch over them and guide them in whatever way we can—and forgive them when they slip up." Gilbert muttered, watching the men exchanging well wishes, news—even items like buttons, cigarettes, food…hell, some were even singing carols. The albino had the look of a disapproving parent on his face; this was ridiculous, the war, the bloodshed and the sudden call for a truce over a festive season; the world must have gone insane. Next to him, cigarette in his mouth, Arthur Kirkland also watched the soldiers, except that he showed nothing but faint amusement with bitterness under the curve of his lips.

For the past half hour, the two were in conversation over the idiocy of the entire conflict and it brought them to the topic of the very people they represented, to the question of the heart of a person. Needless to say, it was a debate that would have been endless.

"I believe it is more of choice than the fact that man is not and will never be perfect." The Brit replied, exhaling out a puff of smoke.

Gilbert gave the sandy blonde a questioning stare, then plucked the cigarette from the man's fingers and crushed it beneath his boot heel. "You should stop smoking, its bad for your health. Back to your answer, how so?"

Defiant, Arthur rolled his eyes, pulled out another stick of tobacco and lit it. "Hello pot, my name is kettle", he retorted, wreathed in a cloud of smoke. "You see, it's because of choice—the power and free will to choose whatever they—those humans want to do." Pausing for a while, the Brit added, "and that freedom of choice…when one chooses to act towards hate and the darkness in their heart than love and its light, they bring suffering to themselves and the ones around them. Conversely, the same happens with making a decision to act on the innate goodness in their hearts: just that they end up happier even if it was a pyrrhic victory."

Snow fell around them softly, a seemingly peaceful closure of the night where fighting ceased between two warring countries from the heavens. Gilbert knew better, once the light of the sun came up…it would not be long that their people; now laughing and bidding each other farewell with smiles would point their weapons at each other again. "The heart is a strange thing indeed, capable of change at the slightest provocation or in just a second or two."

Just the faint twist of a scowl forming on his face, "I still stand by my argument. Yes, you are right in saying that there is a dual nature to the hearts of men—even us as nations; just that it is more complex where we try to separate our human self from our nation self—I am Arthur Kirkland, the nation avatar of the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland. But I am also a man: Arthur and the nation I represent are not one and the same." Taking a few steps in the direction of his camp, " While the darkness in our hearts may seed cruelty into justice, contempt into compassion and poison love with grains of doubt…it is our choices and words that bring a candle to hold back that darkness in the hearts of others and vice versa. Those good choices stem from an underlying strength within us and comes in many forms, but it is the same thing: we all act out of love—out of sentimental attachment to a particular thing: person, object, ideals even. The true question is, to what end are we willing to pay as sacrifice to keep those things close to our hearts."

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**A/n.: *groans, dies in corner* This took a long time...and I somewhat hinted what is 'Sloth' going to be in this drabble. XD**** Again, the idea popped in my head and refused to leave me. Quite a bit of history here, but before I move onto it: school has officially started for me, so I will not be able to type as much: I'll still write, but the question of being able to type it and upload it will be a problem (Curse you Law and Management studies.) Other than that, I think I'll be pretty much alright and once the holidays begin, I should be able to upload chapters up again.**

**HISTORY TIME: 1. The Aestii were an ancient people located somewhere east of the Suiones (Swedes) and west of the Sitones (possibly the Kvens) on the Suebian (Baltic) Sea. This and evidence also suggests that the land they lived in was in a region around the later East Prussia (now Kaliningrad Oblast.) Hence my head cannon that Prussia was not originally one of Germania's kids: Prussia, if you were to really dig into the depths of ****history; the Germanic Prussians have their origins from a group of Baltic Pagans, and the 'Old Prussians' were not a single cohesive group (made of several distinct clans, they lived along the Baltic sea around modern day Russia and Poland.) Plus, remember that episode where it was said that Prussia grew up in a cold place? He couldn't have been the Teutonic Knights all the while due to the fact that the Teutonic Order was founded in Acre, Israel. Meaning he did not grow much due to the state of 'Old Prussia' but remained a child in human standards and somehow made it all the way to Acre OR when the knights Germanised the Baltic Pagans, he would have died but somehow ended up representing the Teutonic Knights and lived on even though they were really just a military order.**

**2\. Prussia was partitioned into two: East and West Prussia when he was made into a Ducal state under Poland. (Its just my head cannon that fem Prussia took the role of 'West Prussia' and slowly weakened to the point where she could be killed with a serious enough injury: like what happened to Germania) the full story of what happened is in the 'Sloth' piece of the Seven deadly sins series I have yet to finish.**

**3\. HRE...like point no. 2, it will be revealed together.**

**4\. I mentioned this before, but...On 20 July 1932, President Paul von Hindenburg issued an emergency decree, to dismiss the cabinet of the Free State of Prussia. The reason being was ongoing, sometimes violent, unrest within Prussia, that Hindenburg claimed the Prussian cabinet was not competent in settling. However, the true reason was that the Prussian government, headed by Otto Braun, was one of the last things standing in the way of Chancellor Franz von Papen's view of a more nationalist-run Germany. This would very easily lead the way in 1933 under Adolf Hitler, who was elected as Chancellor of Germany. Soon after elections, all German states were stripped of their governing power and existed merely as provinces. Following WWII, Prussia would never recover, and was officially dissolved in 1947 by the Allied Control Council, who stated that Prussia's militaristic reputation and nationalistic culture paved the way for the war, and could no longer exist.**

**5\. December 29th 1940: The Second Great Fire of London happens. I don't want to delve too much into this as self-reading can be done, but I researched on it for days; all the descriptions in that portion were based on eyewitness recounts, war journalist reports as well as books regarding the Blitz. In all fairness, it also has to be remembered that in the thick of WWII, Allied pilots also dropped some 2 million tons of bombs on German soil; initially to target munitions factories, but afterwards, they also started bombing densely populated civilian areas to demoralise the Germans (Dresden is one prime example) . Experts figure that to this day, up to 250,000 live bombs remain scattered around Germany, and barely a week goes by without a bomb squad being summoned to one of them. Berlin which was bombed to shit between 1940 to 1945, hosts an estimated 2,000 to 4,000 unexploded bombs with around 10 to 15 live bombs found in the capital each year. Its a cruel fact, but despite the fact of the war having ended years ago, people are still paying the price for it.**

**6\. Foreshadowing here on my part but the bad feeling Prussia has will be in a drabble of its own: Bombing of Konigsberg.**

**7\. Christmas Eve of 1914: the famous Christmas where enemies called for a truce on both sides temporarily. Again, I will not dwell too much on this as it can be read up fairly easily.**

**I honestly hope you all enjoy reading this and I meant no offence in writing this. Leave a review or prompt. mieudiary: I technically have a smut story (pirate x priest) but its not exactly 'perfect'. If you don't mind I'll upload it and post the Re-first kiss as a separate story. *sheepish look, has an idea for the prompt but somehow can't fit in smut for that***


	7. Kapitel 7

**I do not own Hetalia or its characters.**

**(WARNING: M-rated drabble for sexual content—as well as implied past non con. Do not read this chapter if you don't like such stuff. I take no responsibility for your horror if you weren't prepared. If you flame in the review section because you don't like the drabble, I'll refer you to this disclaimer and probably a few legal Latin terms. One of which being: volenti non fit injuria—meaning, notion that a person cannot bring a claim against another for injury, if said person willingly placed themselves in a situation where they knew injury could result XD. Don't say I didn't give fair warning. THIS IS NOT AN AU PIECE.)**

**Corrupted Love**

Exhaling slowly, Gilbert shrugged the dead weight on his shoulders to the bed—Arthur had gotten drunk again, and the Prussian had to carry the inebriated pirate back to the ship. Thankfully, the sandy blonde's crew was at the moment on land; having got the permission from their captain to leave the ship and enjoy their brief time away from the sea—at least until the latter's siren call grew too powerful to ignore. "I honestly wonder what will happen if I simply left you at the tavern sometimes." The albino grumbled, sounding exasperated and somehow, a tinge of grudging affection. Part of the priest wondered what on earth had happened to make the other want to drown his sorrows in alcohol—a strong, growing empire; there was nothing more the British avatar could possibly ever want: power, wealth, respect—Gilbert could not see anything that the other lacked. The cleric had been dragged away from his night shift in the infirmary when he was alerted to a brawl involving a "foreign gentleman of rogue demeanor, wearing a rich, red coat with gold brocade" and a patron by a panicked citizen; reason being was that when said foreign gentleman was around, he was often seen with an albino priest. It did not take long for Gilbert to settle the matter, having been a knight; it took an uppercut to snap Arthur's head back and two fast, precise blows to the celiac plexus—and the pirate was out cold. He was not particularly worried; Arthur would only feel sore around his torso, seeing that he was a nation avatar and a powerful one at that.

Which was why, his clothing in disarray, the pirate opened his eyes and watched the Prussian lazily, like a hungry cat gazing at a mouse. "Tipsy. Not drunk." Arthur smirked, his lips stretched in a leer. The anger, irritability and annoyance displayed on Gilbert's face only made the Brit feel happier and also stir a more primal beast inside him. "So eager to leave…?" Emerald orbs observed the Teutonic priest who had turned on his heel and was ready to leave the pirate ship for his home. "Well… would you mind allowing me a final dance with you, luv?" The words were whispered in a deceptively soft tone; on the sandy blonde's face, a grin replaced the previous smirk whilst green orbs sparkled with a predatory light.

Mouth opened to shoot back a retort, Gilbert turned, wanting to give the persistent pirate a curt farewell. However, the instant he faced the bed, his lips were crushed against Arthur's in a hungry kiss—filling the albino's mouth with the taste of rum and nose with the scent of the seas. Calloused hands grabbed the priest by the waist, pulling both their bodies close to each other before tossing the latter to the bed. Sitting lightly on the Prussian's legs to prevent him from getting up, the Brit pinned the other's wrists to the mattress and slammed his rough lips on faint pink ones, muffling any objections or curses the albino had. Brilliant green eyes bored into crimson red, the former burning with a dark lusty fire. The albino's knee connected with the other's groin and the former swallowed, feeling the tightness in that area; Arthur was not only drunk, but aroused as well.

All Gilbert could do was glare; his body felt frozen under the vice-like grip of the Brit and anything he tried to say was turned into a series of incoherent sounds. The sandy blonde did not let go of his grip despite having moved on to kissing the albino's jaw slowly and eventually peppering the long, white neck with his lips, sucking and nipping the unblemished skin softly. A rugged hand toyed with the opening to the priest's cassock; the material was not as thick as Arthur initially believed it to be and with a quick tug, the cloth tore, revealing the Prussian's white chest. The Brit carried on to kiss him deeply and passionately; fingers gently brushing along naturally pale skin and trace Gilbert's ribs. Biting and leaving marks on the chaste cleric's collarbone, Arthur smirked at the wide-eyed look of shock and hint of pleasure in his lover's blood red irises. The priest twisted and writhed like a fish out of water, desperate to escape from the unholy nightmare happening before him; attempting to sit up, he could not get far with the sandy blonde seated on his legs.

"Arth…Arthur, st—stop it…." Gilbert gasped, pale cheeks dusted pink from the light kisses and touches. His heart raced at the mere thought of what was in store for him—the organ hammered in his chest, as if about to burst right out of his ribcage there and then. Fear slithered like a snake and he felt nausea rise up from his gut—not from whatever was going on at the moment, but from unpleasant, dark memories stirring in his mind. The albino swallowed down a whimper of fear, seeing not the pirate but another person with jade green irises that had burned with wanton desire and hate.

"You are mine, luv." The pirate murmured into the Prussian's ear, hands cupping the latter's face in a gentle and yet at the same time possessive way so as to make the albino look into his glinting green orbs. A shiver went down the silverette's spine, partly due to the fact that his robes had been ripped off and the wind did nothing to help him but only made him tremble more, but for most part, flashes of a silent, blood watered battlefield as well as the unheard screams and sobs in an empty church. Just as a protest was about to tumble out of his lips, another rough and searing kiss stopped him short. The Prussian gasped into the sandy blonde's mouth, feeling a tongue invade and ravish his forcefully; it felt as if the latter was trying to taste him by running the muscle over his teeth, the sides of his cheek and down his throat. A soft moan escaped out of the priest as his crimson eyes slid to a partial close. Gilbert felt himself being pushed back down into the sheets and whimpered when Arthur broke the kiss and gazed down at him; brilliant eyes darkened with animalistic desire, they still held a regal, commanding air which demanded obedience. A light smirk flickered on the pirate's face as he heard the quiet moans.

'This is wrong… I shouldn't...no…' A blush appeared on the cleric's cheeks when he felt an uncomfortable tightness in his pants. Groaning through his feverish mind, the albino was barely aware of the Brit lying atop of him, or that the sandy blonde's kisses were trailing lower and lower until he felt licks and sucks along his erection, causing his back to arch slightly. Somewhere along that time, Arthur had relieved himself of his clothing and coated three of his fingers with saliva; pressing a single finger, the pirate moved it around while still licking and sucking at the tip of Gilbert's arousal; swirling his tongue around the base and then sucking hard. Then he pushed in a second finger—making scissoring actions with the two, he enjoyed hearing the whimpers of want coming from the Prussian who thrashed and moaned in desperate need and arched his hips. Adding in the third finger, Arthur knew he had finally pressed on the albino's prostrate when the latter's eyes flew wide and cried out in pleasure. Without a second thought, Arthur spread the albino's legs open—positioned himself and pressed him slowly; as much as the beast within the pirate wanted to plunge in and send the Prussian writhing in the throes of ecstasy, he did not want to give the priest too much pain during the latter's assumed first. Most of all, he wanted it to be pleasing for the albino.

Gilbert bit his lip, eyes closed, expecting the inevitable stab of agony to arrive. He felt the sandy blonde pull him close into a heated kiss while pressing in deeper, causing the cleric to feel like his body had been split into two—tearing up, breathing ragged, the albino panted at the agony of Arthur entering him. However, he could not hold back a cry of excruciating pain when the sandy blonde pushed past the outer ring and entered further—it was as if a huge, burning rod had been shoved up his backside to break and burn him from inside out; even though he had recovered from the famine in his land a while ago, the Prussian was still much thinner than Arthur due to malnutrition. A burst of panic flared within him again and every fiber of his body was tensed with the impulse to flee— feeling warm lips on his cheeks, ruby red orbs met emerald ones; the Brit was pecking away at his tears lightly, a pleased, almost gentle smile stretched across the sandy blonde's face—and all fear seemed to die off immediately and he relaxed: there was no malice in those eyes, no hate or ill will. The pirate brought their lips together in a kiss, weathered hands entwined with slightly smoother ones; he pulled out about an inch and pressed back in, "I won't make it hurt too much." Arthur groaned, enjoying the cloying warmth he felt as the muscles clenched around him.

Thrusting into the Prussian, the Brit started off slow and gentle, pulling out further each time. Gilbert's moans and whimpers in his mouth urged his hips forward to thrust hard and before long, the pumps increased in length and speed—blood churning hot and slow, Arthur's hands were firmly set on the albino's hips as he pulled out almost completely before slamming back in, slapping their skin together loudly with each movement. His arms wrapped tightly around the pirate, the priest sank his teeth into his lower lip to muffle his cries. He wanted to scream as the latter struck a spot deep inside that had him seeing stars behind his eyes; with each hard thrust it sent pinpricks of pleasure and pain throughout every nerve in his bowels and belly—at the end, the Prussian pulled away from the lip-lock and released a pleasured cry, tears slipping out from the corners of his eyes. Even with his mind in a cloud of thick sensual pleasure, Gilbert had to wonder to himself—was this how intercourse supposed to be like? Not brutal and forced on?

Hearing the pleasured scream of his lover, the pirate's smile became wider, baring a feral of teeth; Arthur began a pounding rhythm, forcing the priest's body to bend further and elevate his hips, the sandy blonde wanted to hear more of the albino's pleasure—to him, it was the sweetest melody he had ever heard other than the sound of the sea. The other's body closed around his length each time, pulsating and pulling him deeper. He craved the heat inside the Prussian and at the sight of Gilbert writhing beneath him, the animalistic lust in the Brit drove him on; not noticing that his thrusts had turned slightly more forceful and the Prussian's cries of pleasure had a tint of pain behind them. Slamming deep into Gilbert, Arthur felt the other claw at his back, nails digging into his shoulders whilst choking out his name. There was some blood dripping down those pale white thighs, but the albino's mind was too caught up in sensual frenzy to think—the pirate's thickness crashed into him over and over again, striking his sweet spot each time. He barely had time to catch a breath in between his moans and cries; the sandy blonde's intense lovemaking sent waves of carnal delight throughout his body, coursing through each nerve and settling at his lower abdomen. The pleasure was growing more and heated with every rock solid thrust—before Gilbert could let out another gasp, a choking cry left his lips and he came between them, unable to take anymore of the pleasurable onslaught.

However, despite having come to completion, Arthur was still stimulating that special spot, which made his eyes, roll back in his head. For a moment, he thought that the Brit was upset with when the other pulled out of him, causing him to feel cold and empty—Arthur had yet to find his own release after all. Then, to the Prussian's surprise, the pirate flipped him over on his belly and lifted his hips to his erection. The priest bit down on his forearm to keep from screaming at the next round of entry; it was much easier this time with the muscles opening wide to accept Arthur fully, and narrow hips pressed against the rounds of thrusts which were different from the previous but nonetheless pleasurable.

Seated up tall on his knees, the pirate gripped his pale lover gently and started to rock those narrow hips against him; then, his fingers tightened and he pulled out as far as he could and rammed himself back in. The force of it brought forth a wail of pleasure from Gilbert's throat and the albino arched his neck at the rough penetration that wracked his body and made him cum instantly once more. His body was unable to enjoy the afterglow of the orgasm however, due to the swift, solid thrusts Arthur was giving him—pale fingers clenched and clawed at the linen sheets of the bed as he thrashed in the heat of passion whilst the Brit rammed into him over and over; it was quite painful, but the waves of pleasure that hit him was more than enough to ward it off. The pirate was not stopping, that the rock solid movements made the cleric feel as if he was being ripped open. Each time the tip of Arthur's arousal rammed straight on into his prostrate, making him scream out and his eyes well with tears of ecstasy. He felt the build up of another orgasm tickling in his lower belly with each thrust—harsh and rapid, he writhed, arched rolled and even shook—they brought along a new type of ache within the Prussian's guts. The hurt was enjoyable and Gilbert found himself shuddering to release again.

Skin sweaty and flushed, Arthur could feel himself nearing his climax—his lover was no longer holding back his voice, letting out groans, shrieks and moans of ecstasy; the Prussian was gasping the former's name as the pounding continued, the sandy blonde wanting to lay claim to the albino beneath him. 'He is mine and mine alone…no one will have him.' The pirate swore; lust filled irises watching as Gilbert convulsed perfectly beneath him. He loved the other with all his heart and soul; and if everyone would curse him for doing so, then so be it. The albino was his and only his. Another hard thrust sent Gilbert's head arching back and his body trembling; soft muscles contracted against his hard length, clamping down around him as if begging him to never leave. The Brit set to sucking hard on the back of the Prussian's neck; feeling the albino gasp and flinch when his tongue traced circles on it—he bit softly on the skin, a weathered hand stroking the other's hard length. Arthur carried on to drive himself harder into Gilbert's tightness, slamming unforgivingly into the latter's sweet spot until the priest screamed his name in pleasure and his body's nerves pushed him over the edge. With a strangled cry he spurted his steaming essences over his tattered cassock. The sandy blonde was still thrusting through his orgasm, making some of the white substance splatter on the albino's chest and face. The sudden tightening sent Arthur over the edge and his toes curled—back arched, the pirate let out a groan and came inside the tightness, panting heavily whilst pulling out of Gilbert's body. Emerald green hues looked at the Prussian who was flat on the bed with his face flushed and eyes wide with afterglow.

Gilbert felt Arthur still with his erection buried deep within him when he heard the latter groan and felt a liquid warmth fill him; fresh tears pouring down his cheeks like a waterfall, and an opened mouth smile of relief, he only felt the Brit's essence when it reached the outer ring of his hole, leaking out and dribbling down his thighs. He felt his face flush when the pirate pulled out, hearing and feeling the substance pooling out. The albino wanted to close his legs together, but he found himself unable to—limbs weak, red irises looked up at Arthur's loving green ones; both their faces were tinted pink, with the former's looking as red as his crimson eyes. He swallowed and looked away; feeling tears of a different kind build up in his eyes and spill down his cheeks, Gilbert hid his face in his hands, unable to look at the pirate anymore.

The Prussian felt pathetic, weak and confused; he was a pathetic nation—poor, riddled with all sort of trouble that came his way—hell, he was technically not even a nation but a ducal state: a pathetic, sad excuse of a nation avatar who somehow just refused to die or fade away in times when he should have. Gilbert had often wondered what was it that the other saw in him to deserve his affection and desire, now even more so: nation avatars never took the matter of coupling lightly—it meant conquest and being a literal slave with no need to care for their wellbeing, or it meant being married in an official alliance which could start off a war. Granted, from what he knew of the other's history, the Brit had been conquered before—Rome, France…but Gilbert could not bring himself to tell the sandy blonde. Not when the other had been so gentle for fear that it was his first and that he did not want to break him; the Prussian could tell the difference of being manhandled and forced from this: he was still awake was because the other had not been too rough on him. That and his mind did not force him into oblivion in the middle of their intimate dance unlike those horrific incidents that would be forever seared into his memory. He heard the small rustle of fabric and looked up to see Arthur half dressed and digging around in a chest—to pull out a long nightshirt. "It's a cold night…you will fall sick if you don't put on something." The Brit murmured, palming away the fat, salty droplets.

At those words, the priest sat up, ignoring the angry protest from the bottom of his spine, and embraced the sandy blonde. Part of him wanted to tell the pirate everything so badly, yet another part wanted him to keep all of it buried for the rest of his long existence. How could he ever find the strength to force those words out of his lips and look into those emerald eyes ever again without feeling defiled and inferior? Granted as nation avatars it was impossible to never have been conquered and have their arse handed to them literally; in the most cruel of ways as well, but Gilbert, not Prussia—did not want things to have to be as such. It was not fair, more so to Arthur than him.

_'__If only we did not have to be bound to our people…'_

Arthur kept quiet as the Prussian clung onto him and wept, muted sobs that made the albino's body shake and tremble—it was as if the Prussian was trying to hold onto him and never let go. Gently embracing him with one arm, the other hand stroked soft, silver strands soothingly; almost like how one would try to calm a wounded and frightened animal that would bolt at any moment. The pirate never said a word, but simply allowed the other to cry to exhaustion and fall asleep after. Dressing the fast asleep priest up, Arthur lay down beside the exhausted Prussian; curled up on his side, Gilbert had still fresh tear tracks still fresh on his pale face—the sandy blonde leaned over and kissed them away. Then, with a soft purr, the pirate pulled the blanket which had been kicked away earlier over the two of them and wrapped his arms around Gilbert's body to pull him close into a lover's embrace before falling into the arms of morpheus.

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**A/n. THIS IS CRAP. What on earth did I just type...and I am terrible at this (It was actually from one of my old writings and I edited most of it: MEIN GOTT I STILL REMEMBER READING ALL SORTS OF SMUT FICS AS RESEARCH AND TRYING TO GET IT ALL RIGHT I SHALL GO DIE IN A CORNER NOW.) As for the title I couldn't think of a better name so...suggestions anyone? Not much history here although historical based headcanon used: Prussia after the 13 years war; basically after 1566 became Poland's bitch so...Actually, Poland was nothing like how Hetalia portrayed him to be: The Kingdom of Poland was actually really large and powerful until of course, like all great Kingdoms and Empires it fell. And from there, the rise of the Kingdom of Prussia started. Once again, like the previous, I did not write this to offend anyone so please be civil. That and again, I refer you to my warning.**


	8. Kapitel 8

**I do not own hetalia or its characters.**

**Questions (Based on the vocaloid song "Go Google it", 'A' refers to Arthur and 'G' refers to Gilbert)**

G: Please do not ask me why.

A: All of you wants to know me I think...

G: Please do not ask me why.

A: All of you wants to know me.

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A: This is the first time I'm feeling this way.

G: For starters, a pirate should be more on the seas than on land.

A: I want to become friendlier with you.

G: If you want to act all intimate, then go to a tavern and find company!

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G: If you've got something to say, why not just say it clearly?

A: What do you think of me?

G: How should I know?!

"Go read it up, you dumnkopf!"

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A: "Where do you live?"

G: "Go read it up it, you dumnkopf!"

A: "What do you like?"

G: "Go read it up, you dumnkopf!"

A: "What types are you interested in?"

G: "Go look it up at the library, you idiot!"

A: "When can we meet again?"

G: "Go read it up, dumnkopf!"

A: "Do you like scones?"

G: "Does it matter? Go find out yourself!"

A: "Are you in a relationship?"

(G: I kind of do want to tell you that...)

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G: I can't be honest with you. This is bad...

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A: Your voice echoes repeatedly in my heart.

G: Heliges Gott! Schwester, do something already!

A: I want to talk about your charm.

G: This place is not your diary!

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G: Wichser, go home already! Stop embarrassing me already!

A: I want to know what you really think.

G: How should I know?! "Go read it up, you dumnkopf!"

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A: "What are your body statistics?"

G: "Go measure to find out, you arschloch!"

A: "What are you wearing underneath that?"

G: "Go read it up, you idiot!"

A: "Are you wearing anything under that in the first place?"

G: "Go find out at the Library of Alexander, you dumnkopf!"

A: "I've always liked you."

G: "whatever."

A: "I love you."

G: "Good work being an idiot."

A: "Please understand how I feel." (G:I actually do understand...)

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G: With this attitude, I will seriously get myself hated.

I actually love you more than anyone else.

"Realize this already, you dumnkopf!"

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G: "Please don't get the wrong idea.

You, you have nothing to do with this...

My face is red because of the heat."

A: "Won't you be honest with me?" (G: I can't!)

G: "I like you...Are you an idiot?"

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G: If my true feelings could actually be found in a book,

Then I would be revealing entire self to you...

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G: Please do not ask me why

A: All of you wants to know me.

G: Please do not ask me why

A; All of you wants to know me

G: (I promise the truth there)

G: (I want to be a good priest)

G: (honest answer)

A and G: You search it with this book.

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**A/n.: In view of my very angst filled stories I decided to have a bit of crack and humor. XD and so I posted this old writing from…almost 2 years ago. I'm wondering if I should make it into something like a story—its set in the timeframe when Prussia was still a duchy, so Pirate x Priest. Do comment in the review section if you want this to be expanded out into a story form!**

**Basically, it's a hilarious summary of how Pirate England and Priest Prussia bonded with each other; I pretty much have the feeling that Gilbert at that time did not want to enter into too much of a romantic relationship because to be honest he's going to be a burden (pride of his would not allow him to rely on anyone too much) and a little bit of his staunch religious side, as well as him choosing his duty as a nation avatar over his own self interests as a human. Obviously, Sir Pirate here is not going to back down that easily; two stubborn people trying to get each other to give in. The part about clothes and body measurements…now I know we're all perverted people one way or another but actually, the situation is that it was winter and Gilbert was wearing rather thin-looking clothing. Arthur being the gentleman that he is, wants to get him thicker and warmer clothes but doesn't want to make it too obvious.**


	9. Kapitel 9

**I do not own Hetalia or its characters.**

**Forgiveness ('Re-first Kiss' prompt from Mieu)**

_"Forgiveness always entails a sacrifice—the final form of love, forgiveness is to take upon the consequences of what another has done."_

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Gilbert had been convinced that dissolution was the worst kind of torment he had gone through in his life; new wounds erupted over older ones—deep, ugly gashes tore open of their own accord, showing white bone that shattered and broke with a sickening wet crunch as his people and lands were torn from him—not even the still, raw, angry and festering hole that had been flesh and muscle over the literal charred remains of his heart. However, at present, the Prussian was battling a flood of horrific memories that refused to leave him, unceasing agony that came in waves—it hurt to even breathe; more so than when he had been afflicted with the plague in the past—and ill health.

Except that he had to be the most wretched of fortune's kindness and was proven wrong right now and ever since the day he came home from behind the wall.

None of his injuries since the Second World War had healed; most remained in various stages of fester—it was amazing that he had yet to die from blood poisoning, nation avatar or not—especially the horrific burns from Königsberg, Dresden and Berlin.

He had been kept healthy enough to remain on his feet and work for the very nation he loathed, but nowhere near enough for recovery. Not that the Prussian could blame the accursed Soviets, even if seriously injured or pushed to the point where most nation avatars would have cracked, Gilbert was one still capable of causing mayhem and destruction that would put the devil to shame. It was only logical to hence keep the albino in a weakened state, thus he had been forced to do ridiculous tasks that he had no wish to do—how was he to adhere to the production demand without any factories as **_someone_** had conveniently shifted all his means of manufacturing away—sapping away any desire to work at all, brutally destroying any resistance—that was not new, seeing the violence handed down to the other states that tried to revolt—only that the albino always landed himself in trouble due to his stubborn streak (admittedly he took on the would have been punishments of others at times), and many more he did not feel like reminiscing at all.

Then again, at that time, and even now, he would have made the same decision to take his brother's place. Like hell he would sentence his younger sibling to more suffering, never mind that he was close to death, Gilbert refused to allow a repeat of his younger sibling passing before his eyes helplessly. Besides, he was only going to burden Ludwig, not to mention the fact that the younger nation avatar was…

_'I know he did not mean it. But it does not make them any less painful; having to be hated and spat on by your sibling you practically raised from infancy.'_

Perhaps it was why Arthur had mocked him; insulted him in his cold cell before it was time to leave for unspeakably harsh territory—_a stupid, sentimental, weak fool that was consumed by unredeemable malice and hate—_for reasons other than Gilbert knew would have been in the Brit's mind had the sandy blonde known the truth.

Nevertheless, some truths were better left as lies and vice versa; after having been together, as well as apart from each other, the Prussian could predict perfectly what, how and why the British nation avatar would react in certain circumstances and given factors. This time, it was better that Arthur just despised him as an enemy: being viewed as a villain was nothing new to the albino; it was just an inevitable part of his life, just as he had escaped fading away several times; Gilbert had come to accept that he would have a different fate from others.

Although…he had to admit that it was a bit of a surprise to see both his brother and the Brit waiting for him beyond the wall. Then again, he supposed that collapsing in the middle of a conference warranted enough attention for the both of them to panic. Unless…the both of them had found out the truth and were beating themselves over the past; a very likely reason for their behavior, but as time and the world always proved cruel—nothing, nothing at all could rewind precious time to rewrite a past choice or decision. The law of causality was absolute after all: cause and effect, action and reaction.

It was funny, the former nation avatar swore that there was panic in those eyes; alarm that had not been shown since centuries ago in usually proud emerald irises—Gilbert would have teased Arthur for it, if he had not blacked out from exhaustion. He was so tired then, and if anything, his world seemed to have been built on a merry-go-round; spinning in a whirl of colours and sound that eventually were sucked into a deep, dark void. The dull ache in his chest, which had plagued him for years exploded with agony that had to come straight from hell—as more and more people left, the albino also experience its effects first hand; the telltale sticky, warm feeling of blood pooling around him, the fabric of his worn and tattered uniform clinging to his pathetic shivering self.

Now, something stirred in him to wake up; the stubbornness that had came with him even before he was a proper nation avatar demanded that it was time to stop sleeping, along with the strict discipline that had been a constant in his life barked at his battered self for having become a sluggish lump of flesh and bone.

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Arthur was not very well known for his patience.

Two weeks had passed since Gilbert returned from behind the wall; seated by the still unconscious albino, the Brit had to thank Ludwig for allowing him to stay albeit temporarily—although the nation avatar of Germany did not outright admit it, the cerulean blue eyes that had once welcomed him like a close family friend now had a distant edge. Not that the sandy blonde wanted to overstay his welcome; at least he knew that the German would not throw him out of the house, as the younger nation avatar had put it: "it would be better for you to stay here. Least I storm across the border and cause a diplomatic mess. Besides, I am not so cruel as to not repay past kindness."

Ludwig sure did know how to make his words hurt when he wanted to. Then again, Gilbert was the one who had raised him—what should he have expected from his lover who was capable of skillful and unparalleled manipulation?

He frowned, noticing the unmistakable bright flush of fever on the Prussian's cheeks—the high temperature often spiked—fortunately there was medicine that was able to take care of it rather effectively readily available. What worried the Brit most was the fact that none of the injuries appeared to be healing properly, or at least at a rate considered normal for their kind as nation avatars. Granted, most of them were severe, but…

"I'm just letting my impatience get the better of me…there is only so much medicine and help that his brother and I can offer. The rest is up to time and himself." The Brit muttered quietly, more to himself than to the younger German who was also in the room; dozing away from having stayed awake for almost every night the past week to watch over Gilbert. After a long discussion over how they would work in shifts, it was decided that Ludwig would take watch during the day; with so much work that had to be done due to reunification, the younger nation avatar could not afford to burn out at a time like this.

To tell the truth, the Brit had not made such a decision out of the goodness of his heart entirely—there was still a tiny remnant of resentment and hate from the destruction of his beloved capital. But as a human, as Arthur, he understood that it had not been easy to ask for help; especially for a prideful person like Ludwig, Arthur himself as well. As much as both did not want to admit, they were only tolerating each other for one person in mind.

**_Several days ago:_**

_"And why, would I go back to possibly face an outburst of your fury, Germany?"_

_"He called for you by name, cried for you—"_

_"…Gilbert? He finally woke?"_

_"Nein. In any case, I have no intention of denying a request of his."_

**_Present time:_**

Holding a thin, cold hand—Arthur felt his heart clench even more than it already was from regret. Even when afflicted with plague and famine, the albino had never looked as fragile as he did now. It was unbelievable, that someone like Gilbert would ever be described as delicate and frail. The man had always been lean, but not to the point of Yet...here he was, ill, severely wounded and on the precipice of life and death. Unlike in the past where the Brit could sense the overwhelming resolve in the Prussian to survive, this time round however, it was as though Gilbert was choosing between continuing to hang onto the brittle thread of life with his teeth or letting go.

The Brit had to confess, that Ludwig did more or less have the right to snap at him; from the younger nation avatar's view, Arthur had been the one who had pushed for dissolution most strongly. Despite the fact that the two of them had such a long history with each other, the sandy blonde did appear to have severed all ties and abandoned the Prussian. In addition to it all, Gilbert's physical condition had suddenly deteriorated after the wall went down: the albino had slumped to the ground; almost like back during his dissolution, with the exception of screams and cries of agony. Blood bloomed across a once pristine and well fitted uniform that now hung off his emaciated frame like a scarecrow, the unhealthy pallor of his skin drained even further, and the Prussian had mimicked the stillness only a corpse could pull off. It only stood to reason that Ludwig had rudely kicked him out of the house.

Arthur had not needed to ask Ludwig if Gilbert showed any sign of improvement; a more taciturn behavior than usual, unkempt and disheveled appearance in manner of dress, a face that spoke of sleepless nights-former enemies or not, the Brit was still a gentleman and knew how to read the atmosphere of the situation at hand.

"For how long do you intend to keep sleeping...? Do you not know that so many have waited for you to come back?" The sandy blonde murmured softly, trying to warm the albino's cold hands with his.

"Isn't…this the part…where the sleeping princess…gets a kiss…?" Eyelids fluttering open, a weak grin forming on his pale face—Arthur blinked, thinking that this was just an illusion formed in his mind from his wish to see the Prussian awake. However, when he felt the familiar soft squeeze of his hand as reassurance; just as the albino had when he first regained consciousness after overcoming the plague, the Brit intuitively knew that it was not a dream. Letting out a choked chuckle, the sandy blonde returned the grin with a wry smile.

"Just hurry up and get well soon, git…" The former pirate half-growled, brushing away stray strands of silvery hair from Gilbert's face. While it was a welcome relief that the Prussian was lucid, the fact that he was still shivering despite the several layers of blankets on him was worrying. As if to prove his point right, a cough tore itself out from the albino's throat, the sound harsh and like a firecracker going off in the room. "I'll be staying here for a while—provided that your sibling decides to let me extend my presence here."

"As if…you would…let him chase you…off. My elder sister…could not even…stop you from barging…into the church…just to visit me."

While the Brit made no verbal response to that statement, the twitch of his eyebrows and lips were sufficient proof that the words were true. He leaned forward, pressed his lips against Gilbert's softly in a sweet kiss. It was a small action—almost insignificant like any other kiss—but carried a heavy promise behind it.

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**_11_****_th_****_ November 1918, WWI officially ends. _**

**_18_****_th_****_ January 1919, Paris Peace Conference—German delegates were not invited._**

**_28_****_th _****_June 1919,The Treaty of Versailles is signed—setting the foundation for the rise of a Second World War…_**

"I still disagree on the terms of that treaty. It will lead us—all of us into a Second Great War."

Seated on a wheelchair, a thick bandage over his left eye and a long strip of gauze wrapped around his neck—the binding covered the skin above the collar of his uniform shirt completely, and also continued further below. Both his hands were wrapped with bloodied bandages that started from his fingertips, all the way up around his wrists and it did not take much to guess that the dressings extended up beyond the cuff of the sleeves. Gilbert, by extension; the nation of Prussia, was a wreck—at least, his physical body was. "That sentence would have been more useful months ago than it is now." He muttered flatly, leaning against the rest of the seat.

Like the fateful Christmas Eve of 1914, Arthur found himself conversing with Gilbert; this time, the war had finally ended. Or at least, the war had only ended on the surface with the military forces of all nations involved having withdrawn back to their respective positions. The Brit had encountered a fair bit of difficulty in trying to locate the Prussian—the albino had to be carried off due to the harrowing amount of damage dealt to him during the course of the signing; funny how just one treaty, a mere pledge on paper and the signature of a few people could result in the near death of a nation avatar these days. However, that was the harsh reality of the world these days, just as empires rose and fell, and the sun would rise in the east and set in the west…beings like them could also be reduced to a nothing in mere moments.

"You know I had not much of a say in it—even my people and leaders agree that it was a rather vindictive treaty. However, we all want an end to the war; it all boils down satisfying and compromising with each other to achieve a common goal."

A snort—more like the sound of a harsh bark of cynical laughter that was caught in his throat—left the Prussian. Once lively crimson eyes that sparkled with a relish for life were dulled with bleak emptiness, almost resignation towards what the future held for him. "Is that Arthur I hear, or the words of the United Kingdom? If a chain of hatred, no, a chain of causality could be so easily broken, the world would be a much happier place. Or perhaps not, as the avarice in man would find ways to exploit whatever weaknesses they find to their advantage."

"Whoever thought that I had the most bitter and acrid of personalities obviously hasn't met you," the sandy blonde chuckled, as though the topic at hand was about the weather, the Brit seemed relaxed and poised; betraying the seriousness and worry inside. It was not worry for the albino, but the truth behind the Prussian's words—they made too much sense.

"No one wants to be the first to break the chain of causality. To do so, its not in our nature as nations." Gilbert murmured, the words so soft, they seemed to be more like a self-reminder over a trivial matter. "Forgiveness always entails a sacrifice—to forgive, it is to take upon the consequences of the other person's act. The price that one must pay for their freedom through another's sacrifice is that one must in turn be willing to free the other in the same way, regardless of the consequences."

**Flower of Immorality—Part 1**

_The story of a vampire who fell in love with a priest—from the start the two of them knew that their relationship was wrong and doomed, but those days of passion and feeling do not fade into nothingness. Yet whose fault was it really, the vampire who appeared on a night of a full moon? Or the very irrational nature of the world itself that brought about such an effect?_

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Arthur was not one to feel regret or any sort of emotion over a potential meal—this wasn't his first killing either, having lived for over a several centuries; the sandy blonde had drained away enough blood to fill a small sea. Yet here he was, hesitating over feeding on a peacefully sleeping priest. It was not his first time feeding on men of God; hell, he enjoyed the irony of feeding on clerics who had pledged their lives in service of the church—at the end, they all ended up dead in spite of their religious fervor, believing that divine intervention would arrive in time to save them from their demise at the hands of a monstrous creature.

However, he had to admit that his soundly sleeping prey looked a tad too _appealing_ to kill. Especially with how the soft moonlight shone on him—the man would have made a most charming and alluring vampire himself if he were not a priest. Plus, it had been such a long time since he stumbled upon a decently good-looking human. The last time Arthur laid his eyes on the rare instance of physical beauty was at least three centuries ago…even so; she did not have the almost celestial attractiveness of this unsuspecting dish.

Half sprawled on his side, arms stretched out as if trying to embrace someone; the vampire had to admit that the sleep-tousled silvery bangs only served to emphasize the elegant features of this mortal— pale skin like alabaster, natural cherry pink lips pursed in a pout, slender eyebrows and lashes: it was a crime for a mere human to be so enchanting. Even those crimson eyes—

Wait. _Crimson eyes like fresh blood. Just when had the albino woken up from his slumber—_

Before Arthur could make his escape, cold, glittering emerald irises gazed at bright scarlet ones that shown with a mixture of annoyance, shock, horror and outrage. If he was not so busy trying to extricate himself from his own mess at the moment; the sandy blonde would had been amused, except that this cleric was unlike the unfortunate ones before him—clearly, Arthur had underestimated this doll—last the vampire remembered, vials of holy water were not stashed under the pillows; who on earth would and could sleep with glass ampoules beneath their heads? It was downright uncomfortable, vampire or human, neither would sleep on a pillow laid on top of a handful of glass bottles.

Apparently this priest did, and it was the quick reflexes granted to the sandy blonde as a supernatural creature that saved his legs from being melted off. 'This is interesting, a cleric that has experience with combat. Or at least, a keener mind than his predecessors.' Arthur mused, his lips curled with mirth while he continued to evade the barrage of shattered phials and holy water aimed at him. Nonetheless, the vampire managed to flit through the attacks and grabbed the man's wrists, effectively preventing the latter from raining more blessed water on him.

While the displeased expression Arthur wore could be described as murderous, there was a tint of desire in his eyes as well. It was truly a pity to drain this entertaining human—the sandy blonde had never had so much trouble against any of his victims before. Even against those pesky hunters that brought no end of trouble to him, their struggle did not last as long as this strange albino had—then again, Arthur was holding back, rather than going full out with his powers. 'No wonder the scent of his blood had been much more enticing than any other I've come across,' the creature of darkness smiled, more to himself than to the priest he had pinned to the bed.

"For a man of God, you've proved yourself to be quite violent," as if they were lovers, Arthur whispered into the albino's ear. His grip on the latter's wrists tightened, not enough to snap the bone, but sufficient warning that he could if he wanted to. Glowing with hunger, emerald irises glittered at the tempting pale, unmarked stretch of skin—his ears could hear the beating of the cleric's heart, the organ mindlessly pumping the very blood that had brought the vampire here on this night.

Clearly, the mortal had no intention of allowing him to do anything, not that Arthur had even asked for permission to begin with—however, even if he wanted to do so now, the sandy blonde had to wait till his jaw was healed. The impudent doll of his was proving to be more and more of a tricky person to handle: he had snapped his head forward and given a nasty head-butt to the face; then made use of the brief distraction to deliver a forceful kick to the gut—it did not hurt at all, but the impact sent him crashing into the wall.

"For a vampire you certainly fail at securing your prey. While I am not so heartless as to defile the grounds of sanctuary by killing, I am permitted to defend myself adequately." Narrowed ruby eyes glared at him, defiance burning in those striking eyes like flames. "If you have to feed, there is a stable at the back where livestock is kept. After that, leave and don't let me catch you here again." Wielding a silver knife, the blade glinted coldly as the metal reflected the moonlight. There was no sign of fear or anger; only quiet determination and resolve in the priest's frame—no doubt, the albino was trained in self defense, or perhaps even had combat experience.

_'__No matter, I will find a way to obtain this interesting human…his blood is just too tempting to give up to others.'_

**Grim the End (Hetalia crossover with AkunoP's Four Ends in EC)**

_"The Master of the Hellish Yard brings Hell, Everything eternally unforgivable" –Boy of the End, Hänsel_

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If there was one thing that Arthur could not stand as the Master of Hell, it was the major misconception that he was evil and malicious—granted that complete annihilation was not the most ideal of end to meet in the viewpoint of a mortal; it was still a very fair and just decision, all would be punished for eternity according to their unforgivable sins. Besides, it was a fitting way to keep the souls of man in check, seeing their incorrigible behavior as well as hateful attitude to each other spanning 0ver several millenniums.

Furthermore, what about the others: the Master of the Court was naught but a child, passing out unjust judgment in a bid to carry on the will of he called Grandfather—a soulless puppet that had been the former incarnation of the Demon of Sloth. Alfred was no better; having eaten the Demon of Gluttony, the man had took on the role of the Master of the Graveyard; ingesting everything into his stomach and still unsatisfied—such was the end he intended to give—death which consumed everything while still desiring for more.

'At the very least, have them answer for their acts of malice rather than damning them all to a court that would trial them forever or devouring the world along with its flawed inhabitants mindlessly.' The deity snorted mentally, a disgusted sneer forming on his lips. As much as he understood that the nature of man was to be aggressive and try to dominate each other in terms of ideals, morals even the most base and perverse of ways—it was also that very point which was the basis for giving all a second chance; atonement, as Gilbert often insisted upon as the Master of Heaven.

It was idiotic, believing in the irregularity of man—which they could be capable of change in spite of the malice implanted into them at the time of creation—to redeem himself and enter into the heavenly yard regardless of past sin. There was a reason why there was a Hellish yard after all, to mete out punishment for eternity as penitence. Unforgivable crime should remain unforgiven and repaid, did it make sense for a person who committed grave sin to enter past those heavenly gates due to having shown remorse and made some paltry amends to redeem himself in front of others? None at all—besides, all man strove to secure their future and would make use of any means necessary to steal another's future wittingly or not. One man's success was another's failure, to kill or be killed; the desire to survive was always the first before any other moral principle. It was not wrong, it was just the natural way of things—weakness was not tolerated and it would ensure a strong succeeding generation after the previous.

In any case, the only ones in Arthur's domain were the seven cursed sinners who had forged a contract with the demons of sin: Luxuria, Gula, Superbia, Acedia, Invidia, Avarita and Ira—the seven cardinal crimes. It still came as a surprise to him that one made in similar image to him was thrown into Hell for having made a deal with the demon of greed while the sinner that had called upon wrath—shared an uncanny resemblance to Gilbert. Truth to be told, all of the demons with the exceptions of Superbia and Acedia were 'killed' once by Ira.

"Wrath…the effect created from the other six. It's little wonder why the rest fell to the anger and hate born out of their on actions. 'Righteous anger' is but the same as finger pointing to shift away the burden of guilt from oneself to another." The sandy blonde muttered, feeling his scorn and derision for the beings he had created alongside with the others back when the world was but an empty canvas. Along with the creation of a new world, they too also set the rules as to its end. Four different ends—any one of them may come, but the point was that they could not be avoided in any way.

Nonetheless, being the 'one who held every key' did have its benefits; Arthur could watch the pasts of all the sinners in his domain—more often than not mocking them for the mistakes they had made—as entertainment.

Uncontrolled desire, that sinner of Lust was finally killed by one wielding Wrath in the form of a sword; anger incurred from personal humiliation and the need for revenge.

Overindulgence to the point of waste, that sinner of Gluttony was weakened to a pathetic state by Wrath as well, this time as poison that destroyed even the demon of sin itself.

Hatred and contempt of others that eventually led to the deaths of millions, the sinner of Pride was made to watch as his beloved family paid the price for him.

Failure to act—confidence in the belief that without any improvement—a prestigious empire could maintain its power, it was not long before corruption ate at its foundation from inside out. The sinner of Sloth was left for stronger competitors to pick at him.

The insane need to be better than others, to deprive others of their blessings, to take what was not rightfully theirs; the sinner of Envy brought Wrath to himself due to his actions.

An insatiable avarice, the sinner of Greed almost had the world in his hands—until Wrath brought about by its desire to gain more at the expense of others had his power slowly but surely waning away.

Finally, Wrath itself who had brought about the end that Arthur had set along with the other three—intense feelings of hatred and self-destructive behavior, while his actions were that of wrath caused by a simple desire to try and bring back what was taken by death…they had formed a chain of hate that led to massive destruction.

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**A/N.: Three short stories in one chapter here…. This took a really long time (I blame my busy schedule.) but I am really thankful for the support of those who have patiently waited as well as encouraged me. On the bright side of things, I did pretty well for my tests; at least for those I have gotten results back for. I sincerely hope that you all will enjoy this update and do send me prompts to work on—it was the purpose of this whole thing in the first place.**

**Anyways, historical facts for the first story: "Forgiveness" aka re-first kiss prompt from Mieudiary (I can't really write happy things so…and I'm sorry this didn't really turn out the way you wanted)**

**HISTORY TIME**

**1.1953, 17****th**** June: The East German Worker's uprising is violently suppressed by Soviet forces—roughly 513 people were killed in the fights, 106 executed under martial law, over 1800 injured and 5,100 arrested. This was because of the East German government raised taxes and the price level of basic goods and services, the work quota was raised even further by 10% and a pay cut would be in effect if the workers failed to meet their work quota.**

**2\. After the end of WWII, the Red Army dismantled and transported all infrastructure and industrial plants of the occupied zone of East Germany to Russia. Meaning, in addition to having all their manufacturing plants taken, they had to find someway to pay the reparations owed to the USSR.**

**3\. While considered to be the most well off among the other Soviet states in terms of economy, East Germany never caught up with the standards of its Western counterpart. A quote from the Heute show: "Look you can announce to do away with the Bundesliga and that 3 nuclear reactors just exploded, that would instill less fear in the Germans than to say 'we have to do a financial exertion similar to that of the German unification AGAIN'"**

**4\. Take note that I refrained from trying to portray a certain nation as the villain here as I prefer to avoid being hounded. (To be very blunt the Hetalia fandom has a very bad reputation due a few horrible fans that do not know how to be sensitive enough when it comes to certain sensitive historical content. Or portrayal of certain nations.) IN ANY CASE THE INJURIES PRUSSIA GOT DURING THE TIME OF THE COLD WAR IN MY HEADCANNON WERE ALL DUE TO NATIONAL ISSUES SO DO NOT COME TRASHING AT ME FOR MAKING ANYONE A VILLAIN. WE ALL KNOW WHOM I'M TALKING ABOUT GDI.**

**5\. 1918, 11 November: WWI officially ends. ****At 5 a.m. that morning, Germany, bereft of manpower and supplies and faced with imminent invasion, signed an armistice agreement with the Allies in a railroad car outside Compiégne, France. The First World War left nine million soldiers dead and 21 million wounded, with Germany, Russia, Austria-Hungary, France, and Great Britain each losing nearly a million or more lives. In addition, at least five million civilians died from disease, starvation, or exposure.**

**6\. 1919, 18****th**** January: Paris Peace Conference; the conference that decided upon the terms of the Treaty of Versailles.** **Representatives from Germany were excluded from the peace conference until May, when they arrived in Paris and were presented with a draft of the Treaty of Versailles. The Germans were deeply frustrated and disillusioned by the treaty, which required them to forfeit a great deal of territory and pay reparations. Even worse, the infamous Article 231 (War Guilt Clause) forced Germany to accept sole blame for the war.**

**7\. 1919, 28****th**** June: The Treaty of Versailles is signed, in the decades to come, anger and resentment of the treaty and its authors festered in Germany. Extremists like Adolf Hitler's National Socialist (Nazi) Party capitalized on these emotions to gain power, a process that led almost directly to the exact thing Wilson and the other negotiators in Paris in 1919 had wanted to prevent–a second, equally devastating global war. **

**This treaty remains to date, one of the most controversial and debated on topic amongst historians. Each of the major powers then: France, Britain and America had different opinions on how the treaty should have been—the French who were still upset at the loss of the Franco-Prussian War wanted a treaty that would make Germany pay heavy reparations, accept total blame of the war and revenge for the damage inflicted onto its lands. **

**The British wanted a treaty that would prevent Germany from starting another war–what an irony, the war was started by a Serbian assassinating the future ruler of the Austro-Hungarian ruler—and wanted the German navy to be weak as British Naval superiority had once been threatened by German Naval Armaments. However, the British feared having too harsh a treaty, as an unfair peace would lead to another war. Moreover, they also wanted Germany to be able to recover economically to prevent the rise of communism in Central Europe.**

**America on the other hand, wanted to keep out of future foreign entanglements—policy of Isolationism—eventually, this inaction and policy would also play a role in the gears of war that would lead to an inevitable march of a Second World War.**

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**For the second story: "Flower of Immorality" I mostly got inspiration for it from the song "Corrupted Flower" by HitoshizukuxYama P, sung by Rin and Len (/A/) I hope you readers will enjoy it and do leave a review—I want to know what are your thoughts about it.**

**For the last one…admittedly this was 'rage writing' as I was in a bad mood and stuff was getting to me. But it's roughly based on AkunoP's Evillious Chronicles (partially crossover). So…in short, in this AU shares the elements of the four pillar Gods of Evillious: Master of the Graveyard (Death), Master of the Court (Judgment), Master of the Hellish Yard (Hell) and Master of the Heavennly Yard (Heaven)**

**In this story: Master of the Graveyard (America), Master of the Court (Italy), Master of the Hellish Yard (England) and Master of the Heavenly Yard (Prussia and HRE)**

**Then the 7 sinners—there is reference to history here but I don't think I'll post it here because like I said, the last drabble was basically 'rage writing' and I posted it because I felt like it. XD /SMACKED/ **

**Again, thank you so much for reading—leave a favourite, follow whichever you think fit—and do leave a review after! I love hearing what people have to say about what I write. (Obviously, please don't be rude. Even if you don't like it just say so politely. No vulgarities please.)**


	10. Kapitel 10

**I DO NOT OWN HETALIA OR ITS CHARACTERS**

**Acedia (Sloth) PART 1 of 2**

_"__Sloth leads to Wrath; unlike what most think the sin of Sloth is—laziness—it is actually the inability to feel joy or not fulfilling one's moral obligations."_

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_1806, War of the Third Coalition ends with the Dissolution of the HRE_

_1806, 14__th__ October: Prussia loses the twin battles of Jena-Auerstedt, leading to it subjugation to French rule which would last for six years._

_1807, 9__th__ July: Treaties of Tilsit; Prussia loses half of its territories to the French Empire._

_1808, 9__th__ March: Prussia is forced to pay 154,500,000 Francs as tribute, causing massive debt…_

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Tired, war weary ruby irises were dulled with apathy as they stared at the sandy blond speaking. Gilbert was in no mood or in any frame of mind to listen; it hurt to move, breathe—just being alive was agony. Did no one ever know when to just leave him alone? As much as the Prussian lived for war, this was too much to ask of him. Nation avatar or not, he too had a breaking point; and he was close to shattering like a porcelain vase hurled to a marble floor. He had recently lost two people, so close to him, that he would be ready to give up an arm or a leg to see them again.

The albino knew that it was uncharacteristic of him to display such lack of drive and spirit; Old Fritz—Friedrich der Groß—would have disapproved and have him back into shape. Except that his beloved king was six feet in the ground: an inescapable fate for all mortals, and apparently applicable to nation avatars as well. It was frightening, but at the same time, in its own twisted way, interesting and worthy of more attention. Gilbert had watched nation avatars die before; his father and guardian—but none of them had ever left much of an impression on him. At least not as strong as this time…

"Gilbert, are you even listening to what I have been going on about?" Frustrated emerald eyes glared at him, obviously displeased with the emptiness and lackluster in usually fiery crimson orbs.

Raising a thin, bandaged hand: the other was in a sling, courtesy of Ivan who had switched sides and rather happily crushed the limb to stop Gilbert from being able to get back up properly. The Prussian slumped further into the armchair he was in, paying no heed to the whines of still unhealed injuries; he had worse before, like hell he was going to die from a handful of broken ribs that came from a Frenchman he desired to see groveling at his feet while Paris burned.

_'__Now there's a thought, just raze Francis' beloved capital to the ground; but that's not enough, it will never be enough. I'll see to it that he will never get up onto his feet again.'_

Except that he had missed his chance to do so—for the love of heliges gott—none of his misery now would have happened had he joined, as a nation, in that stupid war back in 1805. However, seeing that his leader had not, all the albino could do was to take part in the whole clusterfuck of a disaster as Gilbert himself, as a mere human. Part of the albino wondered if this was how humans; citizens of nations felt each time their leaders led them to war over some petty issue that would be written in blood? What a laugh—that causality would toy around with the personification for war itself; cause and effect, its simplicity had decided to turn around and bite him right back in the backside.

"Just leave me alone...I can't care less about anything else at the moment." Cracked with exhaustion and hoarse with pain, the voice belonged to a beaten and defeated man.

Never mind that he had just shown another signs of defeat; he was still human—nation avatar or not, he was still a mortal man. Therefore, Gilbert found it reasonable to want to mourn and wallow in self-misery. Besides, with half of his lands gone to create his old nemesis from scratch…The Prussian simply wanted to close his eyes and sleep; a brief respite from the humiliation he had suffered. Better still, sleep and wake up to realize that everything that had happened was merely a nightmare, that his dear twin was alive, and that his brother was still around…. Surely, as much as fate enjoyed toying with him all the time; during the 13th Century when he should have died from 50 over years of countless bloodshed between the Knights and the Old Prussians—the native Prussians who had remained unbaptized were subjugated, killed, or exiled—

_A toddler by human standards, where someone his age would and should be laughing, playing without a care in the world, sheltered from harm and blessed with loving parents; the albino instead lived by fighting for his survival most of the time. Aestii was gone, he had disappeared without a word one day—Gilbert had not needed anyone to tell him why, he had somehow understood that that was how things were meant to be as a nation avatar; the old pass away to let their younger counterparts take over, the basic rule that bound all life together on earth._

_Angry, raw wounds stood out against the pale canvas they were drawn on; they had torn out from his skin of their own accord as if having a life of their own. However there was nothing he could do other than trying to keep them clean and dry, he'd learnt first hand what would happen if injuries turned bad; if he had not been a nation avatar he would have undoubtedly died from the severe burns and the infection that often set in after. It was the price for being different from the others in terms of physical appearance and also a nation avatar—when his people realized that he could not die from being burnt, they tied him to a rock and tried to drown him. However he never blamed them, not when he was their representation and entrusted with the duty to protect them because they were his 'children' in a sense. Just as how Aestii had taken care of him and his other siblings, it was now his turn as a nation personification to defend his people._

_Plus it was not as if his people were evil; they were in fact a group who loved their home, valued independence and freedom—a trademark that made them stood out amongst others was hospitality and assistance to lost travellers along the Baltic sea. _

_The young nation leaned heavily on the broadsword he carried with him at all times, now a crutch for him to rest his weight on while he struggled to get back to his make-shift camp of sorts. At least he knew that once he got there, he would be safe and around the comfort of his temporary 'home'…_

"Gilbert…GILBERT BEILSCHMIDT!"

Gone were the villages that had corpses strewn about in the grass like rag dolls—most of the time, the bodies had been abandoned to the elements; as an example and also a show of power to the rest who might pass through the area. The albino remembered seeing them in his mind each time he drifted off to sleep then: dead children with their glassy eyes wide open; the fear and confusion in those orbs made eternal by death on their faces. A mother's cold and still body—locked in a protective embrace that would have stopped a sane human from causing the stab that took her life along with the infant in her arms. They were all part of a series of harrowing memories of a past even a hardened nation like him would rather forget—it was the brutality of war that Gilbert had been forced to grown up with: the sheer horror that made war what it was.

_'__Wars are not won by great heroics or epic battles on the field. War is not about ethics, good or evil. Wars are won by terrorizing the enemy until they give up and go home.'_

Needless to say, the madness that followed after being forced to latch his existence onto a military order to survive, how his small hands were stained with the blood of his citizens—former citizens as he had abandoned the remnant few of that had not fled or been killed.

Reality came back to him in a slow haze; as if the memory had been a mere detail in a long dream—the Prussian dully remembered that he was no longer a child nation avatar; he had grown up just as the seasons rotated in a cycle.

Gilbert looked at the retreating back of the Brit who had come to him in a bid to push him to join the next coalition against France and a dry, bleak and bitter chuckle that matched the lifelessness of his irises tumbled out of his chapped lips. Lined with fatigue, jaw going prominent, cheekbones sharp—chalk white skin laid over jutting bone, the pallor resembling old snow and his empty crimson eyes like dying coal embers. A drop of blood seeped from a crack in his lower lip and wormed its way to his chin while a single jewel of a tear welled in one eye. His laughter spiraled into a hysterical screech that matched the cry of a dangerous, cornered and wounded animal.

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_2__nd__ December 1805: The Battle of Austerlitz—French forces under the leadership of Napoleon defeat the Austro-Russian army, concluding the War of the Third Coalition…_

Gilbert hated winter.

No, he did not loathe the season for the cold it brought; his detest all began in 1411, following the signing of a treaty that—three centuries after—as a newly formed Kingdom did the Prussian realize that it had actually led to consequences unimaginable for the whole of Europe. The entire catastrophe had eventually brought about further conflict and strife that literally tore the nation that he represented into two: Eastern Prussia; Ducal Prussia, which the Teutonic Knights retained, but only under the overlordship of the Polish king. Western Prussia; Royal Prussia on the other hand, became a province of Poland, with some local rights of autonomy.

Fortunately, for him life somehow decided to be more merciful to him by bringing into his miserable existence a "twin". Well, not exactly a twin: it was difficult to explain—she was like a carbon copy of himself created from the division of land and people—but the only word that carried enough weight to describe the bond they shared was of a kindred kind. As she had been older than he was physically, Gilbert saw her as his older sibling. In fact, that was how she had introduced herself, that she was his unintentionally created "other half' as the system between the two separate states were so distinct from each other.

"This fog is going to make things difficult…"

The Prussian not help but smile, "we both know that fog or not we'd be here schwester. Once this battle is over, the two of us can march over to *Österreich and give him a good bashing…"

An exasperated sigh reached his ears; but Gilbert knew that his sister was smiling—that was how well they understood each other—he would start a sentence and she would end it. If he got hurt, she could also feel the pain as if she had been the one to take the blow in his place. It was the unnatural strength of their bond that allowed them to "switch" places at times: when Gilbert had been close to death following the mess of a thirty years war where armies had come through, destroying land and populations over religion—Julchen had stepped up as a "temporary substitute" and heaven help anyone who underestimated her capabilities.

However, Gilbert had to concede that she did speak the truth about the fog; the low visibility was disadvantageous, more so for them than the enemy: at the top of a hill, if the French surrounded the base of the mound, it would only be a matter of moments before they were overrun.

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**A/N: *Violently comes back to life* Quite a bit of History for this one… Either way, I'm just happy that this 7 Deadly Sins series EngPru/PrUK is almost done. XP Just left Gula, Avarita and Ira (Gluttony Greed and Wrath). In any case, before this series ends off I was wondering if I should have the next drabble to be an AU or History based one.**

**Housekeeping matters for this collection of stories aside: yes I am discontinuing a EngPru/PrUK story (One shot for Love, Two for Regret, Three for Wrath) However, as much as I regret the fact that my decision had come to such a stage, my mind will not be easily changed. Yes it's regrettable, but that is just how life is I guess: it takes one person to ruin the fun of everyone. IN ANY CASE I WILL POST A SHORT DRABBLE ABOUT IT HERE IN TIME TO COME—meaning, no details, just the main points expanded into a drabble.**

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**IN ANY CASE, ONWARDS TO HISTORY TIME AND EXPLANATIONS:**

**Acedia: Sloth has always been mixed up with Gluttony actually—by definition of the Seven Deadly Sins; Sloth is the inability to feel joy or happiness—sadness, depression, apathy—those who suffer from depression to an extreme usually have self-destructive thoughts. Many times, Sloth can lead to another sin: Wrath. Those who have lost or lack love, usually fall into a deep state of Sloth.****Laziness is a form of overindulgence aka Gluttony. I guess the reason is because over time, people forget the original context of words and meanings. **

**Now, before I receive any trolls or unpleasant questions: this is only part 1; its going to be a long story so I decided to break it up. Its not so much EngPru/Pruk but more on Prussia and his history—so sit tight and enjoy? XD I am sorry but this ended up much longer than I planned because Prussia and his history is just QAQ BUNCH OF FEELS EVERYWHERE. **

***Österreich is German for Austria**

**HISTORY TIME:**

**1805, 2nd December: BATTLE OF AUSTERLITZ (inserts dramatic gasp)_ Most of us know this battle in the Hetalia fandom as the Battle that killed HRE how sad and angsty. Boo Hoo. But what is it about really_: ****The Battle of Austerlitz was the deciding engagement of the War of the Third Coalition (1805) during the Napoleonic Wars (1803-1815). With threats emerging from the Russia and Austria, Napoleon abandoned his ambitions to invade England during the summer of 1805, and turned to deal with these new adversaries. I don't want to go too deep into this yet as I will be delving deeper into this in Part 2 of Sloth, but:** **One of Napoleon's greatest victories, Austerlitz effectively ended the War of the Third Coalition. Two days later, with their territory overrun and their armies destroyed, Austria made peace through the Treaty of Pressburg. In addition to territorial concessions, the Austrians were required to pay a war indemnity of 40 million francs. The remains of the Russian army withdrew east, while Napoleon's forces went into camp in southern Germany. Having taken much of Germany, Napoleon abolished the HRE and established the Confederation of the Rhine as a buffer state between France and Prussia. French losses at Austerlitz numbered 1,305 killed, 6,940 wounded, and 573 captured. Allied casualties were massive and included 15,000 killed and wounded, as well as 12,000 captured.**

**1806, 6th August: DISSOLUTION OF THE HRE. ****The dissolution of the HRE occurred de-facto on 6 August 1806, when the Emperor Francis II abdicated his title and released all imperial states and officials from their oaths and obligations to the empire. Although the abdication was considered legal, the dissolution of the imperial bonds was not and several states refused to recognise the end of the empire at the time. BIT OF A SPOILER BUT ITS ONLY FAIR SEEING HOW SLOWLY I DO THINGS: Napoleon reorganized much of the Empire into the Confederation of the Rhine, a French satellite state. The Napoleonic Confederation of the Rhine was replaced by a new union later; the German Confederation in 1815, following the end of the Napoleonic Wars. It lasted until 1866 when Prussia founded the North German Confederation—a forerunner of the German Empire where all the German-speaking territories outside of Austria and Switzerland came under Prussian leadership in 1871. This served as the predecessor-state of modern Germany.**

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**FLASHBACK MOMENTS AND A BIT OF PRUSSIA'S OLD ANCIENT HISTORY…**

**13th Century, ****The Teutonic Order started the conquest of Old Baltic Prussia in 1230 through 1283, a total of 53 years. ****The Teutonic Knights wasted little time once they began establishing themselves in the unstable Baltic region. They came to crusade against the native Prussian pagans, who had a centuries-long history of proving themselves to be unruly, as well being unaccepting of Catholicism. The native Prussians also seemed untrustworthy of anything coming out of the west, and for good reason. Rome had sent envoys to the area, the Danish had sent armies, and the Poles had signaled intent to take lands for themselves. Each instance involved some degree of bloodshed and/or corruption. The Teutonic arrival, in Prussian eyes, would be no different. The Prussians were correct.**

**The description of their wars with Prussians was scenes of flowing blood, hangings and people being burned alive. There were cases where complete villages were eliminated. Historians write that overall through these wars and emigration the population of Old Baltic Prussia dropped from 20% to 50% depending on conquered districts. It is estimated that from 170 000 Prussians that were living before the conquests at the end of 13th century there were only 90 000 left.**

**1410, 15th July—BATTLE OF GRUNWALD: In October of 1409, a truce had been signed by the then Kingdom of Poland and Grand Duchy of Lithuania between the Teutonic Knights, set of expire in June of 1410. Rather than actually learning how wonderful peace was, the two sides spent the time preparing for OUTRIGHT WAR. The knights had not planned for a massive army or a dual invasion—in short, it ****ended disastrously for the Prussians; ruthlessly outnumbered, ****Grand Master Ulrich von Jungingen and most of the Order's higher dignitaries fell on the battlefield (50 out of 60). The Polish-Lithuanian army then besieged the capital of the Order, Marienburg but was unable to take it owing to the resistance of Heinrich von Plauen. When the First treaty of Thorn was signed in 1411, the Order managed to retain essentially all of its territories, although the Knights' reputation as invincible warriors was irreparably damaged. The battle shifted the balance of power in Eastern Europe and marked the rise of the Polish-Lithuanian Union as the dominant political and military force in the region. The battle is not as important as its after effects: internal struggle, debt, creation of the Prussian Confederation—eventually all this would lead to the 13 Years' War and many more…**

**To this day, this battle is considered the GREATEST VICTORY in Poland and Lithuania's history with numerous memorials about it all over the place. It has been used as a source of romantic legends and national pride, becoming a larger symbol of struggle against foreign invaders. During the 20th century the battle was used in Nazi and Soviet propaganda campaigns. Only in recent decades have historians moved towards a dispassionate, scholarly assessment of the battle, reconciling the previous narratives, which differed widely by nation.**

**_(Author's comment: Personally, this is one of my most favourite battles of history due to its aftermath and effects following it, but it is also one of the most controversial as the records were quite biased. Not to mention how strong Nationalism and Pride is attached to it by the victors Poland and Lithuania. No offense meant to any readers here that may be Polish or Lithuanian—as a student of history, it is always important to go through all sources of history before coming up with a conclusion. I can only sincerely apologise if anything comes up as offensive.)_**

**1440, 21st February: THE PRUS****SIAN CONFEDERATION IS FORMED. _(Author's comment—Oh gott…just when things couldn't get worse after the Battle of Grunwald… ) _****In 1454, the Prussian Confederation consisting of the gentry and burghers of western Prussia rose up against the Order, beginning the Thirteen Years' War. Much of Prussia was devastated in the war, during the course of which the Order returned Neumark to Brandenburg in 1455. In the Second Peace of Thorn (1466), the defeated Order recognized the Polish Crown's rights over western Prussia (subsequently Royal Prussia) while retaining eastern Prussia under nominal Polish overlordship.**

**AND FINALLY…WHY PRUSSIA IS MORE THAN JUST A PERSON WHO CALLS HIMSELF AWESOME FOR NO REASON.**

**PRUSSIA'S WAY TO INDEPENDENCE AND THE GREAT NORTHERN WAR: Following the end of the 30 Years' War in 1648, Prussia was a state devastated by war and in a mess of its own—one part in the HRE while the Duchy of Prussia was still a Polish fief and NOT part of the HRE. However, the Hohenzollerns in 1618 gained control of Ducal Prussia (by this time, the Hohenzollerns already possessed the Margraviate of Brandennburg as well as the Eastern part of the Duchy of Pomerania)—meaning, they had formed a cross-border union ****_legally impossible._**** But the Hohenzollerns never sweated small stuff like this and everyone else was too busy to care. Then came the 30 Years' war where more than half of Prussia's population was killed because of religious intolerance and the unfortunate fact that collateral damage is inevitable in all wars.**

**THEN CAME THE GREAT NORTHERN WAR: Sweden declared war on Poland-Lithuania and defeats them. Brandenburg-Prussia switches sides to the Swedes in return for becoming a Swedish fief than a Polish fief. Poland then made a massive counter-offensive and takes back significant pieces of land. Russia started to take on an active role in invading Sweden by making an incursion into Swedish occupied Lithuania. This results in Sweden giving the Prussian lands autonomy in return for full military participation. Prussia accepts and is now an independent Duchy.**

**Brandenburg-Prussia would later change sides again to Poland now that they received autonomy in exchange for Poland renouncing claims on Prussian lands. Hence, by the end of the war, Prussia was an independent nation with NO foreign claims upon their vassalage or territory. As a result, an independent Prussia was forged through war and the only way to protect their disjointed nation that was separated by 100 miles of Polish territory was through a massive army in both. The price for independence and security came at a rough estimation of 80-90% of its coffers going to military expenditure and it staying in that range throughout the reigns of both Friedrich William I and Friedrich der Groß.**


	11. Kapitel 11

**I do not own Hetalia or its characters**

**Flower of Immorality (Part 2—Part 1 is in Kapitel 9)**

_"In a love between a mortal and a being of the dead, there is only one end to that deed…"_

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For some, the thought of ordering a vampire around was insanity; surely, there was no need to treat the blood lusting creatures as equals, but as monsters of the dark to be feared and killed on sight. In Gilbert's view, that thought only belonged to the weak who did not understand that true, lasting victory over the lengthy bloodshed between the vampires and humans came from mutual understanding and tolerance on both sides. While few knew that before he became a priest, he was one of the youngest hunters of the church, no one—except for himself—knew why had he left to serve as a medic and caretaker of a small orphanage in a village that had a history of priests being killed; drained of blood completely till all that was left was a husk.

'Sadly for them, I have no intention of being anyone's meal at the moment.'

Tired crimson eyes watched the grey, cloudy skies; just another day of being alive—a full month of retirement from hunting down vampires or just about any creatures that plagued villages—as a humble servant of the Church. It was not that his job as a hunter brought no satisfaction; just like any person who would gain contentment out of reaching their goals, hunters did feel satisfaction from a good pursuit—especially when the target in question was caught and terminated.

At least, that was before the hunters were called in to deal with vampires. From that time on, it seemed as if they existed for the sole purpose of exterminating that particular group of dark creatures. Gilbert would not call it a war; it was a cruel and barbaric tradition in his point of view—in just little over a decade—the conflict between the vampires had turned into a sport. Hunters would band together to smoke out and invade vampire communities in sporadic attacks; vampires would retaliate by draining whole human villages of blood. If the albino had to put it in terms of a game, both sides were keeping score either by the number of villages and communities destroyed, or for individuals: by means of a body count.

The albino had never been one to back away from a fight, but he hated mindless bloodshed—there was no honor, neither was there anything to be proud of by eradicating whole communities as if they were insects; their actions were not any different from the beasts they hunted down with insane fervor. It was disgusting.

Personally, the former hunter had his fill of a wandering life—coming from a family of hunters and the like, Gilbert had grown up being trained to follow in their footsteps. By 14, he had learnt how to defend himself from most attacks: which person would not if they had to wake up to a knife at their neck, survive in a dense forest for weeks with only a flint and a dagger; experience was the best teacher for these sort of lessons. In any case, the priest preferred to not reminisce over his time with his family, everyone was dead; him being the only exception. If anything the albino despised that fateful night more than vampires in his heart. He had known that man could be cruel; malice and kindness were but the two sides of the same coin.

Either way, he found his own peace by taking care of orphans whose parents had been unfortunate victims of the entire clusterfuck. It was not a job the albino would have picked as a first choice, but Gilbert had to admit that he gained much more satisfaction out of it than being a hunter. He would be able to use his hands for things other than killing or destruction.

"Teacher! The strange Mister with that weird hair bit is back again!"

Getting to his feet, Gilbert frowned at the child's words; they made little sense to him—strange man with odd hair—did he know of such a person in the first place? As endearing as it sounded from children who had no ill intention to confuse their caretaker, the information was useless in deducing who was his guest. 'Unless it is my former student that they are referring to…' the priest mused, trying to fit all the people he knew with the details (or lack thereof) given to him. Pale, slender fingers rested on the aged brass doorknob; a moment of hesitation—Gilbert felt his blood run cold as if a basin of ice-cold water had been thrown at him without warning. In a bat of an eyelid, his feet were moving at a speed he had not known since a long time ago.

**_'FICKING HÖLLE I FORGOT THAT I ALLOWED A VAMPIRE TO STAY OVERNIGHT IN HERE!'_**

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Still awake when he would and should have been in his castle, Arthur shifted on the horse blanket that he had 'borrowed' to lie on; like hell he was going to lie on hay directly, vampire or not. Granted that this was nowhere near as comfortable as the fine silk that lined his coffin, it was the best he could do at the moment—being a perfect gentleman even after death, the sandy blonde despised the mere idea of having to soil his fine clothes. The vampire's mind was preoccupied with thoughts of the _entertaining _prey that had managed to injure and keep him on his toes from a flurry of planned, precise attacks that would have had killed a lesser vampire.

Arthur was not attracted to the mortal in anyway; he was sure of that. At least, in no other way than that of a predator and meal—it was how the way things were, and would remain the same for centuries to come. He knew that he had stumbled on a meal worth fighting for, and he would derive immense enjoyment from having the cleric underneath him, writhing as the precious lifeblood that was worth more than gold to vampires was drained away in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

_'Would he cry out from the shock of it all?'_ Arthur wondered absent-mindedly, feeling an insatiable hunger that he had almost forgotten ages ago rear its head deep in his gut; the vampire had felt only felt such an urge to dominate and crush the spirit of his prey a decade back when the conflict between hunters and his kind were at their height. It was amusing; how the will of a human could be easily snapped once they understood that there was no hope left for them to cling onto while they drowned in despair. _'Those beautiful ruby irises—would they burn with maddened desire from the arousing effect of having his life essence drained?'_

"Speak of the devil, here he is." Emerald irises glittered as they took note of the lightly flushed cheeks and beads of sweat that glistened with the light of the sun; had so much time passed by that it was already daybreak? How careless of himself to have neglected such an important detail. In any case, this was an interesting turn of events: whatever was going on that drove a hardened and calm person in the face of danger to this state.

_Furthermore, _Arthur had to secretly admit to himself, _there is something about that look that I rather see in bed with me alone…_

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For the first time in his life, Gilbert was relieved at finding a vampire.

Wasting little time, the albino grabbed the man's wrist in a vice-like grip and hissed, "If you value your gottverlassen life, listen to my instructions. Should you do anything that would bring harm to this place or the children, rest assured that I will hunt you down and kill you."

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Arguments were pointless and a waste of time, more so when the topic remained the same. For most part, Gilbert questioned the need to try and change another's mind when the person had already made his choice. 'The fine line of being plain stupid or doggedly persistent lies in the brain simply following the same chain of thought repeatedly in hopes of attaining a different solution—creativity is needed to prove that someone is not a mere puppet without a mind of his own.' The cleric mused, allowing the words from his former student simply wash right through his ears without fully registering their meaning: it was always the usual, and Gilbert found himself returning the exact same answer.

"I chose this of my own will, Alfred. Now, I assume that you are probably going to stay for the night or however long you wish before leaving again." Exasperation creeping out from the thick veil of patience that had been groomed by taking care of a rambunctious bunch of toddlers and children; it was a large difference from the past where the albino would have cuffed the other for a repeated argument.

That was probably one of the regrettable disadvantages of quitting the hunters.

Granted, the excitable blonde meant no harm—an optimist and quite the naiveté, the later often being misinterpreted as overwhelming confidence in his own abilities to resolve certain situations—Alfred was not a spiteful or ill-natured person at heart. Truthfully, the hunter would always remain his student in the priest's mind. Despite the former having the strength to hold off a number of aggressive vampires in his own right, Gilbert often felt that the young blonde was pushed too early into the field and forced to meet with high expectations due to his prowess in open combat.

It was not that the albino had no confidence in his former pupil, it was the entire opposite: the problem was that he trusted Alfred –trusted him with his life.

There were too many times when the young hunter had put entire missions, the lives of whole towns—just to save a fellow associate, or a friend.

More than once; to save Gilbert.

Perhaps it was the gut feeling that the albino gained from teaching, grooming, being a mentor and a friend to the blonde that allowed him to understand Alfred too well. The hunter would stop at nothing to destroy anything that threatened those he held close to his heart: or to put more precisely, _Alfred would, in a heartbeat, obliterate anything that he felt posed a risk of hurt to those he cared for deeply._

And it was that simple, mindless drive to defend, which, Gilbert respected and feared most in the blonde.

There was nothing the priest could do, except to wait and pray that the worst possible scenario he had calculated in his head would only remain a thought and not reality.

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**A/n: Personally I had planned to upload this drabble along with another...but in view of the fact that this week is practically a week of Birthday Celebrations for me (2 friends, 1 senpai and my father for whom I am blessed with)... I decided to simply upload this one first. I've been rather busy lately due to the new school semester having started and having more Law subjects to study as compared to ****previously, but not a day goes by without me smiling because I know that no matter what there are people waiting for me. I apologise if I come across as mushy and somewhat feelsy today as this month marks 1 year of coming clean and conquering severe depression brought on by stress and a lot more other factors.**

**Writing was one way that helped me overcome that hurdle: for that I thank my dear friend; Duelkatana, she's also here on FF and a great writer.**

**Also, I wish to thank all those who have constantly reviewed: particularly Mieu for all the encouragement and criticism that has helped me improve my writing; not forgetting the fact that she motivates me to not give up on this ongoing drabble series.**

**TO EVERYONE WHO HAS FAVED AND FOLLOWED, PLEASE GO SPOIL YOURSELF AS YOU ALL DESERVE IT FOR BEING WONDERFUL PEOPLE!**

**Till the next chapter, signing off: Kornblume Cavalier**


	12. Kapitel 12

**I do not own Hetalia and its characters. **

**Mirror's Mask**

_Barisol's child is an only child,_

_But nowadays there are two children._

_—Barisol's Child is an Only Child_

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Arthur knew that Gilbert, contrary to all appearances—was an obsessively organized person; just not on the same level of paranoid devotion as his younger sibling.

However, he definitely had not been expecting _this._

Unbeknownst to the Brit, the Prussian had a wide collection of clothes—all arranged in neat rows, categorized according to chronological order of when they had been attained as well as the purpose. That fact was not what surprised him—the sandy blonde himself still had his clothes dating back to the time when he had been a notorious pirate. It was that Gilbert had female garments—mixed in with the familiar ones that Arthur had seen the albino wear ages ago as a ducal state and kingdom—not to mention an extensive assortment of makeup, wigs and the like.

"It isn't very polite for a guest to snoop around without permission from the host."

"I think I should be asking you about all this—" Arthur retorted, gesturing to the unlikely 'trove' he had discovered, "how is it that in all the years we've been together that you've never brought this up?"

A chuckle, "I didn't see the need to tell you about my extensive wardrobe…in any case, it is a boring story to listen to." While there was no unease in his voice, the Brit could pick up a slip of wistfulness in it: a wish for something that could not be granted.

Gilbert was never one to keep many secrets: at least, if asked correctly, the albino would be more than happy to share his lesser known stories. A trait, which, the Brit had observed in Ludwig when the both of them had somehow managed to live with each other in the same house without erupting into another world war.

And where else would the young German have gotten such a characteristic than from the person who practically molded him into the man that he was now?

"You have a boring story, I am a bored person—"Arthur answered dryly, a wry smile forming on his lips, "so entertain me."

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_12th August 1759—The Prussians suffer a crushing defeat against the Russian and Austrian forces during the Battle of Kunersdorf._

_15th August 1760—Battle of Leignitz…a turning point for the Prussians during the Seven Years War during that year._

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**_1760: A bad year for the Prussians, several losses and the fiasco at Kunersdorf almost drove Friedrich II to abdication and suicide…._**

An army with no leader was as good as a group of declawed and toothless lions.

That was precisely the issue at hand for Prussia; granted that their King was still alive and unhurt—a miracle in itself, seeing that he had two horses shot out from under him, narrowly missed death due to the snuff-box in his pocket—the problem lay at the fact that the nation personification of Prussia was still rather incapacitated at the moment, no thanks to the mess that had been the Battle of Kunersdorf about a year ago.

It was also in moments such as these that having a 'twin'; a "sister state" was more of an asset than a liability.

Julchen was not against such an idea; there was no such thing as who was benefitting more, or unfair treatment of either personification. The end result was all that mattered: survival.

If life was a theatre, then there was no harm in indulging herself—or in times when it was Gilbert temporarily taking on her role—with the flow of the play as part of the cast. Besides, the future was uncertain; perhaps a day would come when having the ability to masquerade as another person would come in extremely useful. In a world where staying one step ahead with wit, planning and strategy proved to be more advantageous instead of numbers and brawn—being able to trick and deceive was much more effective and efficient in getting a challenging task done than using brute force. _Why resort to dirtying your own hands when you can instigate another to give you the same desired outcome or even buy some time to recover?_

Even more so when said 'challenging task' was a long war…

"Just rest for now bruder," she murmured, gently running her fingers though strands of silver hair that had dried, rust-coloured patches. It was going to take a long while for Gilbert's injuries to heal—Ivan and Roderich had done a number to her sibling, so much so that now; almost a year after, the awful burns and lacerations that had formed of their own accord (as reflective of the health of the nation and their people) were still raw and bleeding. The younger Prussian had barely managed to stay awake for a few minutes each time he woke up from a mix of delirium and indescribable pain brought on by fever and seeing, _feeling_, whatever was going on.

It was by an extreme stroke of fortune that the Russians and Austrians failed to fully exploit their victory—Prussia might have very well fallen with Gilbert fading away: like all the Ancients had after being conquered or their large state being split into various small ones by the people they stood for.

At times such as the present, Julchen had her hair –usually left long, and untied—now regimented into a mathematically precise braid, and had her chest bound; the latter she had no trouble with as she had been required to wear linen breast binding under her garments in addition to her everyday vestments during her time as a nun. Apparently the measure was designed to eliminate any potential distraction that a nun's breasts might cause—something that the albino herself found ridiculous personally, but had to grudgingly admit that it was useful to this age when doubling as her brother.

After all, someone had to stay strong and remain a "constant" that people could look up to and find security in: that even during tough and bleak scenarios, there was always something that would never change—humans were like that.

Therefore, she refused to give in to the fact that her brother _could _have perished. Or that of late, things were bleak; Zorndorf had been a massacre, least to say Kunersdorf. Change was never welcome or easily accepted—it meant unfamiliarity, bedrock for potential strife, as familiarity required a link to which a person could feel safe and attached to. When Gilbert had screamed as he was bleeding out on the sandy ground of the Kuh-Grund, his own people, despite not knowing that it was their own nation crying out; had reacted to it as if they had known that the battle was not going in their favour. What more now when the man himself was still in convalescence?

Time was of the essence and if morale dipped anymore, there was hell to pay for a war as huge as this: Britain, Austro-Hungary, Russia, Spain, France, Sweden and the Holy Roman Empire—what started out as a conflict over the Silesian lands had blown up into a war that involved almost the whole world. With the British, French and Spanish mainly fighting over the issues of colonies—the rest fought against Prussia: Austria for obvious reasons of getting Silesian territory back, Russia fearing the increasing ambition of Prussia towards the Polish-Lithuanian Confederation, and Sweden having almost the same reasons as Russia just that it was the Baltic Dominions they were more concerned about.

_'Either way, I'll just stand in for him till he is well enough.'_

She could not nudge aside the memory in her mind; as twins, they both shared the same memories; even if she had not been present at the battle personally, she could _'witness'_ the whole even in her mind by tapping on the link shared between her and Gilbert. That day, she had felt a pang—there was no sign of a physical wound, but a ghost of pain so real, sharp and sudden—hot tears found themselves pricking her eyes and had her doubled over gasping for breath.

Something had gone very wrong: stubborn, only willing to show pain when unable to tolerate it further—

_'First Zorndorf, now Kunersdorf; I swear, Gott im Himmel, these Russians are much easier to kill than it is to win over them as Friedrich said.'_

_Julchen hated being only able to watch as a bystander; it was no use seeing trouble and being unable to stop it in its heels or preventing it at all. However, that allowed her to take stock of the situation as much as possible—heaven forbid that Gilbert had weakened to the point of dying and fading on the spot; a real fear that could not be ignored, given the fact that the recent engagements against their multiple enemies had proved unsuccessful. _

_Zorndorf had been a strategic Prussian victory; the Russians were routed and unable to regroup with their Austrian allies, but at a heavy price—over a third of the army was dead. They had begun to make their move to attack in the early dawn hours, but fighting; murderous fighting lasted until the night. When both sides ran out of gunpowder, they switched to hand-to-hand combat and proceeded to hack each other bloody._

_When the men finally managed to find Gilbert, the latter was still alive, albeit barely so—heavily wounded and lying in a pool of his own blood, breaths shallow and labored; undoubtedly wracked with undeniable agony from the dreadful injuries he had sustained—some of them from his people's deaths, most of them from the person lying just an arm's length away from him. His once well-maintained uniform was shredded and soaked in liquid crimson: the colour readily seen everywhere now, from the ground, the still-warm cadavers to the slowly dying and the long immobile dead. _

_It was odd, how death refused to evade the two that had been found together: Ivan was smiling as if both of them were friends who had not met up for a long time, choosing to keep his loathing towards the albino shown in those violet eyes that gave nothing but an impression of madness and an unsound mind. The Russian was in an equal state of disarray and if even possible, seemed just a little worse for the wear than his adversary—_

_It was beyond reasonable doubt that the multiple stabs on Ivan's chest, aimed unerringly at the Russian's heart—as well as what seemed like a brutal stab which started from his abdomen with the weapon used to inflict it having been dragged along in a deep slash and then forcefully ripped out; right at the region of the solar plexus—were caused by the damaged musket that had been found a while earlier; the bayonet attached to it bent out of shape and rendered useless as the blade had snapped, the firearm itself was broken as if it was a mere twig._

_Meanwhile, the bloodied saber that lay discarded at a far corner—its curved blade still wet with sticky, half-congealed blood—_

_Julchen had to resist the urge to retch despite not being present at the scene, but watching the whole situation from her sibling's shared home in Berlin through the link they shared._

_Kunersdorf on the other hand…_

_Part of the female albino blamed Fritz for the disastrous outcome; the battle could have been an easy Prussian victory—had their king simply listened to the advice of his generals—following the Battle of Kay, which was another setback, Friedrich had rushed from his fighting at Saxony to take over the remaining contingent of Lieutenant General Carl Heinrich von Wedel at Müllrose and moved across the Oder River for a decisive battle. A measure to stop their rival from having an increased morale and prevent them from regrouping up with their Austrian allies. The summer heat was unbearable; combined with the long march on dry and sandy terrain; the soldiers were suffered from heat and thirst even before combat began. However, the attack on the Russian positions at Muhl-Berge was successful enough to overwhelm the enemy and allow the infantry to capture it swiftly, a devastating blow to the morale of Russian army._

_A much needed one too, seeing that a victory was sorely needed after successive losses. Besides, with a quarter of the Russian line lost, some 80 guns taken or destroyed, in addition to sustaining heavy casualties amongst their infantry, it was inevitable that they would be forced to retreat. Finck, Seydlitz, Henry even Gilbert—who was always more than happy to have a reason to go on an unrestrained rampage in battle—pressed Friedrich to stop as the troops were tiring in the hot weather._

_However._

_Friedrich was determined to press on his success and continue._

_That was when trouble happened and the Prussian Cavalry was utterly decimated by Russian artillery—Seydlitz who had led the charge under the orders of his leader, had been gravely wounded and had to be made to leave the field. Gilbert on the other hand, was not as fortunate._

_At first, Friedrich managed to keep pressure on the allies, even after the entry of the Austrians, the Prussians were still holding out fairly well. The cavalry were committed to the battle in small packers to support the infantry in the next phase: fighting the Russians and Austrians at the Kuh-Grund. _

_It was by heaven's blessing that Gilbert managed to escape another scenario like that __of Zorndorf while fighting alongside with his people. For most part, it seemed as if Roderich had placed Ivan on a temporary leash of sorts; undoubtedly due to politics or perhaps out of fear that ambition could lead to betrayal: one never really knew who would suddenly change their colours and switch allegiances in an arena called "European politics"._

_Then during the early evening hours of the day, the battle culminated with a massive cavalry charge under Seydlitz on the Russian center and artillery positions. The result: a suicidal charge with severe losses and a chaotic retreat. Platen tried to storm the Russian position in the Grosser Spitzberg later; to no result and the regiment of the Schorlemer Dragoons was simply wiped out by Russian gunfire. To add fuel to an already escalating conflagration, Loudon counterattacked as whatever was left of the Prussian army attempted to form up; the allied Austrian and Russian cavalry just smashed into the disorderly mess and scattered the Prussians._

_How Gilbert had screamed then: a cry of pure anguish, it was a sound of raw pain that echoed shock and disbelief together with a shattered self-control. _

_And like leaves tossed about in an unforgiving storm, the scene became one of all-out flight. _

_Julchen never knew how did her brother manage to stay conscious and focused enough to nation hop back to their home: the Prussian's side was soaked with his own lifeblood, much worse than the previous engagement a year ago. The moment Gilbert's feet touched the floor of the house, he collapsed into a crumpled heap; awkwardly twisted, half on his uninjured side and curled up in a ball of mind-numbing agony as he struggled to stay sane—_

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_Present day:_

"That's about it really…" Gilbert smiled, "it didn't seem proper to throw them away; more so when I used them much later as a 'little songbird'." A wink that would have during the day, caused so much trouble as court women either became terribly flustered or threw all their dignity out of the window at formal, social events—Arthur gave a disparaging cough and nodded slowly.

"Indeed. I have no doubt about it," the Brit trailed off, a small mischievous smirk dancing on his lips, "but it would not be too much to treat me to a few of your skills would it?"

The albino laughed, an unfettered sound of joy that the sandy blonde missed as the Prussian rarely deviated away from his trademark hiss snickering.

"If you promise to let me try it on you after I'm done, then yes." Lips pursed in a pout, ruby irises sparkled with life and mischief.

"I will if you manage to surprise me." Arthur challenged, his own emerald eyes glinting.

"Deal."

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**A/n: Ahahahaha….so what do you guys think happened after? XD I AM SUCH A MEAN AUTHOR FOR GIVING SUCH AN APRUPT AND CLIFF HANGY ENDING.**

**Anyways, yes I got hooked on the song 'Barisol's Child is an Only Child' it's a nice catchy song (at least for me. Plus who doesn't like a cross-dressing Len in a maid's outfit) um…Do leave a review, favourite or follow! XP Also, feel free to leave requests or prompts.**

**Personal things aside, I figured that since I never really elaborated on my headcanons regarding Nyo!Prussia and Gilbert himself, this piece was mostly to show how I view the both of them. (Plus for those who have been around for a while: this is somewhat linked to sloth part 1 due to the amount of Prussian history in it; this goes without saying, also Sloth part 2 which hasn't been completed). Basically, I see nyo!Prussia as Gilbert's "older sister" who appeared around the time when he was a ducal state: Prussia was split into two at the time—East Prussia and West Prussia. Since they are basically two personifications for the same nation, both of them are like identical twins: so much so that if 'one gets hurt, the other will cry.'**

**Its kind of needless to say that I like the both of them having a good sibling relationship because let's face the fact that Prussia did not get along well with his other Germanic siblings as a foster kid. /slapped hard, and this headcanon has been around in my older chapters where I discuss about how I view the Prussia most of Hetalia knows aka Germanized Prussia and Old Baltic Prussia.**

**Now for History Time:**

**1.I ACTUALLY DIDN'T KNOW THIS UNTIL I DID SOME RESEARCH FOR MY HEADCANON OF NYO!PRUSSIA AND GILBERT CROSS-DRESSING TO DOUBLE UP AS EACH OTHER AT TIMES BUT DID YOU KNOW: ****until the 1930s, nuns were required to wear a linen breast binding under their garments in addition to their everyday vestments. This measure was designed to eliminate any potential distraction that the nuns' breasts might cause. In many ecclesiastical specialty shops, it is still possible to purchase antique linen breast bindings that have been hand-embroidered with crosses.**

**2\. Seven Years' War: (One of my favourite wars to read up about in History after the Franco-Prussian War along with the Polish-Teutonic Wars) The Seven Years War is considered the true "first world war". It has other names depending on the region—the "French-Indian War", the "Third Silesian War" or the "Pomeranian War". This war was also Prussia's first direct offense against their enemies and would be the largest and bloodiest war that anyone of that era would live to see. ****The Seven Years' War essentially comprised two struggles. One centered on the maritime and colonial conflict between Britain and its Bourbon enemies, France and Spain; the second, on the conflict between Frederick II (the Great) of Prussia and his opponents: Austria, France, Russia, and Sweden.**

**3\. Battle of Zorndorf: 25th August 1759. THIS BATTLE WAS NOT NAMED "THE BLOODIEST OF THE 18th CENTURY" FOR NOTHING. And yes, this is actual fact—****During the ensuing battle, both sides quickly ran out of powder and engaged in hand-to-hand fighting. One Russian detachment was said to have taken hold of a supply of wine barrels and drunk themselves to stupefaction. When some of the Prussian battalions showed signs of tiring, Friedrich II himself led them in an attack. One Prussian officer reported that "bodies of Russians covered the field row by row; they kissed their cannons while their bodies were cut to pieces by our sabers, but still they would not retreat". After the battle, Friedrich also famously declared that "it's easier to kill the Russians than to win over them". Not forgetting that yes, it is fact that murderous fighting continued until nightfall.**

**4\. Battle ****of Kunersdorf: 15th August 1760. There are really no words for this except that it really crushed Friedrich II as it was entirely his fault for the whole clusterfuck that happened. Russian and Austrian forces had united in the Prussian heartland of Brandenburg after the Russian victory at the Battle of Kay on 23 July. King Friedrich rushed from Saxony, took over the remaining contingent of Lieutenant General Carl Heinrich von Wedel at Müllrose and moved across the Oder River urging for a battle of decision. It started with a Prussian attack on the flank of the Russian positions. The Prussians got the better of this engagement. This attack was successful and if Friedrich had stopped there (as his brother Henry demanded), Kunersdorf would have been a Prussian victory. Friedrich's SENIOR generals asked him to stop as the Prussian army was tiring in the hot weather. However, Friedrich wanted to press his initial success and decided to continue the fight. While the Prussian oblique order attack faded, the Austrian cavalry (so far kept in reserve) entered the battle. However, King Friedrich II was able to regroup and kept pressure on the allies.**

**The battle culminated in the early evening hours with a massive Prussian cavalry charge under Friedrich Wilhelm von Seydlitz upon the Russian center and artillery positions. The Prussian cavalry suffered heavy losses and retreated in complete disorder. Seydlitz himself was gravely wounded. The allied cavalry, counterattacked and scattered what was left of the Prussian Army. The Prussians lost almost 20,000 men and almost all their artillery. Friedrich II, who was in the very middle of the action but unhurt, barely escaped capture. Two of his horses were shot out from under him, his uniform was torn, and a snuff-box in his pocket was pulverized. He stood alone on a small hill with his rapier sticking in the ground** **before him—determined to either hold the line against the whole enemy army alone or die. Cavalry Captain Ernst Sylvius von Prittwitz came to the king's rescue with his 200 strong squadron and convinced Friedrich to leave.**

**5\. I FORGOT TO ADD THIS IN. BTW BECAUSE I FOLLOW THE HISTORICAL DESCRIPTION MORE THAN I FOLLOW HETALIA'S DEPICTION, GILBERT AT THAT TIME WOULD HAVE LONG HAIR TIED UP IN A SINGLE BRAID/PIGTAIL OR USED HAIR EXTENSIONS TO MAKE IT SEEM AS IF HIS HAIR WAS AS SUCH. I'LL POST A SEPARATE DRABBLE ON THE INTERESTING QUIRKS OF THE PRUSSIAN ARMY IN FRIEDRICH II'S TIME.**


	13. Kapitel 13

**I do not own Hetalia or its characters. Neither do I own AkunoP's works.**

_(I promised that I would someday do a drabble that would cover the whole of my deleted story from a long time ago. It took a while, but here it is.)_

**A shot for Love, Two for Regret and Three for Revenge (Part 1 of 2)**

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**"****_Sinful man, Repent"_**

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With narrowed emerald eyes that burned like twin suns, Arthur could feel the corners of his lips being pulled into an ugly snarl that spoke of nothing but pure anger and wrath. The professional hit man stood in an ornate room; decorated with countless artifacts that would have been impossible to acquire even with all the gold in the national coffers emptied inside out. Several years ago, he would not have dreamt of ever crossing the line this far; barging into the house of his employer—setting the house on fire and hell-bent on revenge.

Teeth gritted, the masked sandy blonde stood before a taller and older man; the latter wore the long, black robes of a judge, and carried himself as if speaking to a defendant or one of the judicial staff. Seething emerald irises met cold and aloof amber-brown hues; he looked at the man who had been his boss, and however corrupted; a father figure for thirteen years—and all Arthur could think of was what he had lost.

'Trash like you should not be allowed to live.' Disgust roiled in the assassin's gut as he gazed at the tanned face he knew all too well. Akin to a stain that simply refused to be removed no matter how strong the bleach; he felt tainted just by staring at the other's face—like murky black ink tipped into clear water. 'I wonder how was it that I could stand being with such filth; maybe what people say is true, spend too long a time with stench and it becomes natural.' Arthur mused to himself.

He would have executed his plan earlier than this day—immediately after his stint at the hospital—had Allistair not made him go though a round of crash course training like some greenhorn at his area of specialization. However, Arthur realized that now was a much better time to act on his plot for vengeance; the citizens who were outraged at the verdict of an unscrupulous serial murderer being declared innocent in spite of the overwhelming evidence to the contrary: what better opportunity to justify his action than to do it in the name of justice?

Besides, his brother would not have let him waltz out of the hospital, the redhead was the one who had found him slumped in a corner and bleeding from a clean headshot. Another reason for his mask, to cover up the two keloid scars he sustained at the sides of his head and of course to primarily disguise his features.

The revolver that the sandy blonde held was in a firm, unwavering grip despite the increasing heat of his surroundings. There was no light of recognition or remorse in those smouldering orbs—nothing but a blank, mindless rage. Aimed at point blank, Arthur hissed at how his target seemed unrepentant in the face of impending punishment.

'I wonder what would you have made of this, Gilbert?'

Except that Gilbert was dead; killed a year ago, and maybe just as well. He would not have wanted to see how this world he had believed in had become now. 'Or me, for that matter. But you would understand why I turned into this, you always had an intuition surpassing others.'

Pulling the hammer back with his thumb, Arthur's index finger did not quiver or shake, as it remained poised to pull the trigger—unlike the past year where he struggled to even aim at his target.

'For this man I had given up the one treasure of my life. Now its time for him to be judged like how he judged others.' The hired killer smirked to himself before greeting the corrupt judge with a voice that would have burned metal like how strong acid does.

"Hello Master Vargas, take your pick—I've set your house on fire—so be shot at point blank or burn in this hellfire."

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**(15 years before the assassination of Master Romulus Vargas)**

Bow and arrow in hand, Arthur wandered about the forest happily—not minding that an arc of sweat darkened the cowl of his cloak, or that his shirt clung to his skin: he had come straight from target practice with his older sibling, Allistair, without taking time to shower. Plus, the brisk pace—almost a jog—he had maintained through the labyrinth of trees had offered him no chance to cool off. The seven year old had wanted to visit his favourite spots in the wide woodland that he lived in; a glade he had found in one of his small excursions, and a wide lake with clear water that reflected the beautiful azure sky.

'I wonder if Minty and the others are already there and waiting for me.' The boy wondered quietly to himself as he leapt over the thick, winding roots in his path. Arthur had always enjoyed his time with his faerie friends after a long while of training; as much as he was close to his other siblings: they were all older than he was and preferred to indulge in their own hobbies or were too busy to bother him. Allistair was often out hunting during his spare time and would rarely be home to talk to the wee lad. Patrick was out working and was almost never seen throughout the year save for once or twice to visit, and Dylan spent most of his time with the sheep, opting for their company more than human interaction.

It was not that bad really, at least Arthur did not have to worry about being picked on or teased by his siblings. The downside was that the child could not understand them at times and he often wondered if he had done anything to upset his elder siblings, hence their 'silent treatment' to him. "I wish they would talk to me more…" he sighed, speaking out his thoughts wistfully.

Looking down, Arthur's emerald irises widened when he spotted drips of blood on the grass. His first thought was an injured animal; probably rather badly hurt and scared, judging by the small and congealing puddles. 'Maybe something that I can kill and show Alba that I am not too young to help him with hunting!' The sandy blonde thought excitedly to himself, deciding to follow the trail of blood. Unknowingly, as he tracked down the source of the trail, the boy was in fact headed to the lake he had intended to visit.

And there it was; A mess of white fur, streaked with blood and—

The seven year old lowered his bow when he heard _it_ sniffling; almost like how he did when he was upset and trying to keep away the tears that leaked from his eyes. Arthur crept up quietly, just like a hunter stalking his prey; the child took extra care to startle whatever the strange creature was. Much closer now, the sandy blonde could see that it was a child; with pale skin that was badly bruised, a few knotted strands of silvery white hair were glued to his face by dry and crusted crimson glue due to an ugly gash at the side of his head.

"Who are you?" The sandy blonde asked, stepping out of his hiding place so that the other could see him as well. Releasing a startled yelp, the silver haired boy looked up at him with terror—crimson red met green, the former wide and full of fear. Arthur kept his bow held his hands up, a sign that he meant no harm. He walked slowly and carefully towards the injured boy, the latter had already lost enough blood and from what the Brit could see, there were many more wounds at his arms and legs too. "My name is Arthur…What's yours?" Voice gentle, the Brit smiled friendlily.

"Gilbert…My name is Gilbert. Is there anyone else with you?" Eyes darting from side to side as if trying to scan the area for any intruders, the albino's voice was shrill, close to sounding hysterical.

"No, I am alone. What happened to you?" Kneeling down, Arthur felt worry rise up in him when he noticed that Gilbert was much more seriously hurt than he had first thought; clothing rumpled, tattered, the fabric was wet with a spreading splotch of blood. 'I can't possibly treat his wounds. I need to let mother take care of it.' The child bit down on his lower lip, unsure of how to tell the other.

Gilbert opened his mouth to answer but before he could utter a peep, his red eyes rolled back and eyelids slid to a close. For a split second, Arthur believed him to be dead, but the Brit calmed once his eyes saw the slow fall and rise of the albino's chest. Letting out a relieved sigh, the sandy blonde half carried and dragged his newfound friend of sorts back home.

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**_"If you ignore the past, you jeopardize the future."_**

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**(5 years before the assassination of Master Romulus Vargas)**

Spots where a precise application of carefully measured force would break a person or change an entire situation's course; it took extreme concentration and years of practice to gain the skill of being able to perceive such fault lines. In fact, sometimes even with years of study into that area, it would still be a challenge to sense these vectors of stress—strengths and weaknesses, hidden loopholes and often-unexpected advantage in the environment or a person.

Arthur had been trained to perceive such points. As an assassin, he had to be able to sense such fault lines in order to carry out his job. Especially during situations: shatterpoints in situations were a matter of timing, decision and action. There was and is no such thing as a second chance; kill or be killed.

It was in moments of his solitude like the present that he wondered what was his shatterpoint. At eighteen years old, the sandy blonde had become the best assassin within the espionage task force, besting his elder siblings, despite their longer years of training. Arthur paid not much care to the attention or praise he received, those adoring looks as well as envious ones were nowhere near enough to soothe the petty remains of what he called a heart.

Granted, he was the best at his job; the best there has ever been and he himself knew it. There was nothing he had to fear—when he was as good as death itself once set on a target, all he had to do was just pull the trigger to finish the task ordered.

Except—

Fear lives inside him, gnawing away at the walls he built around his mind. Arthur sometimes imagined the dread that ate at him as a serpent whispering to him, an ancient, cold voice that whispered to him ceaselessly at night when all was dark and when he was alone by himself. In bright day he could shut it out; on a mission, even when reporting to the one they all called 'Father', the sandy blonde could forget that it was there. Yet once night came…

The twin voices that had haunted him for two months back when he was a nine-year-old child, locked in his own house and seemingly abandoned would return. They frosted over the walls he built and made cracks in his defenses, allowing the serpent to sneak through the cracks and devour him alive. It reminded him of what he lost and will most likely lose.

Every night he is reminded of the darkness that was his world almost a decade ago—the fact that he was abandoned and left all alone in a house in an old, dark forest. When his only light was a faint glimmer of the moon from a gap in the wall. Arthur had forgotten what smiles or tears were during that period of time; all he felt was overflowing wrath.

Wrathful anger at his mother who had locked him up and abandoned him, at his siblings who never seemed to care about him, at his own helplessness and _fear_.

How he had felt _fear_ when he woke up day after day alone in a house that seemed to have been painted black by someone, _fear_ that plagued him till he dared not sleep due to the overwhelming darkness surrounding him, _fear_ that sounded in his voice as he yelled for the door to be opened but to no success.

Arthur had been kept alive by the fae he befriended; they brought him food and water, but they were not powerful enough to get him out. Truth was, he had been so deep into fear and wrath that he was close to madness—a subtle, slow slide into insanity in its quiet form—that he couldn't see them at all. All the sandy blonde knew, was that somehow there was some food and water close by whenever he was hungry or thirsty.

He remembered the sight of his brother, Allistair; the redhead finally broke down the wooden door, the unspoken worry and relief that was in green hues a shade darker than Arthur's own eyes. The younger of the two had a blank, empty look when the elder ran over and checked if he was injured or in need of medical attention.

"Hey Alba. Where is mother?" A thin, false smile stretched on his lips, the words had a mild edge to them despite the innocent question.

Allistair had went very still, much like how a person would act for the first few seconds after being hit at the back of the head with a club. It took the redhead several minutes to come up with an answer. "Mam? She's…she died, the day she went out to buy groceries …there was a violent riot on the streets and she was…"

"Oh."

Was all Arthur said in response, interrupting the elder sibling in mid sentence—he was not paying attention anymore; there was no need to. Emptiness settled in his chest and the sandy blonde blinked as if the news was just another detail in a long conversation he had been having with his brother. It felt odd, knowing what had transpired; as though his previously concentrated hatred had vanished and left confusion in its wake. There was not much point in hating a dead person, to be more precise, there was no purpose or meaning in feeling ill-will towards the dead; you could not possibly exact vengeance from a corpse.

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**(1 year before the assassination of Master Romulus Vargas)**

Spring; the time of year when life woke up from their slumber during bitter winter, when dormant flower buds bloomed into their vivid and stunning colours—Arthur too had started off the year with a bang or two; several blood-red flowers of his own creation in the Office of the Chief of Staff of the Army. Two bodies to frame an officer for one reason or the other; not that the sandy blonde really cared about the victims or the life of the officer he pushed the murders onto. People died as part of the natural cycle of life, he just expedited it for the three of them.

However… Something did feel a little _off_.

As if fate enjoyed making a fool out of him—emerald eyes spotted a soldier at the lake Arthur himself was heading towards—even though it was only the side view of the stranger and probably his first time seeing the man, there was a familiarity about that face and its features. Then when that face turned….

Old memories the assassin believed to have forgotten and buried away deep in his mind and heart returned in a flood: happier days of pure fun and enjoyment where an albino child played, talked and laughed with him without a care to the world.

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**_"What could you possibly hate to want to destroy everything?"_**

**_"Myself."_**

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Fate is cruel—just as the world is precious to a few, it at the same time, is and always has been cruel to others.

Dulled emerald eyes paid no heed to the wisps of smoke drifting from the dying cigarette in his hand, neither did they care for the fact that they were misting; not from irritation, but emotion—feelings that he believed to have been kept at bay since Gilbert had always been with him, the albino being a source of comfort that Arthur believed he did not deserve.

Summer had been the happiest moment in his life. As far as the assassin could remember, he forgot what it meant to smile and truly mean the emotion he displayed on his face.

_"You are not taking that with you." His natural cherry pink lips pursed in a pout, the albino huffed in mild frustration like a child the moment he saw his friend pick up the loaded revolver from the drawer and preparing to tuck it safely away into the holster at his belt—the weapon away from view of others once the sandy blonde wore the light coat which hung from the back of his chair._

_Giving a tilt of his head as an answer, emerald irises stared at crimson ones in confusion and disbelief. Was the albino off his rocker from the shock of being accused for murder? Granted that there was no arrest warrant for him at the moment: nobody believed that Gilbert was capable of committing such crime, or any crime at all, given his exemplary record as a civil servant. It was impossible for anyone to doubt the now former officer who held a promising career as a soldier and senior criminal investigator. Furthermore, while the evidence seemed more than enough to prove the albino guilty, the man had a solid alibi, which, substantiated beyond all reasonable doubt that he had been set up. _

_That someone, out there, wanted Gilbert to die as a convicted criminal._

_Of course, it was a disturbing fact to have the tables turned—another was now targeting the cat that used to chase away mice. The sheer absurdity of it all: mysterious murders in the high ranks of the military, a civil servant of high integrity blamed, and a trial that ended up in Military Court—later once more in the Court of Appeal…it became a topic that almost every person capable of speech, sight, and hearing knew about from start to finish. At least, what they were aware of as the 'start' and 'finish'._

_At the end, Gilbert was suspended from his duties and forced to hand over his investigations on a series of unexplained homicides to a fellow colleague: Alfred, was it? It did not matter anymore, that man was dead too: 'tripped off a cliff and fell to his death; a tragic end to a newly promoted investigation officer.'_

_ "Arthur…" the word a plea in itself, ruby irises widened to give an expression similar to that of a kicked puppy, the assassin found himself in a quandary. To give in or not to give in to the irresistibly adorable sulk that Gilbert used to get things done in much more subtlety and with finesse. A technique, the sandy blonde thought mutely to himself was unnaturally useful as even a hardened person like him was tempted to accede to the albino's suggestions or requests._

_It was the sudden action of the former officer's hand darting out and taking away the firearm from its place at his belt that Arthur let out a verbal protest; "there's no saying when it might come in handy. Plus, you said that we're going to a spot that not many know about."_

_Lips curved in an amused smile, the exasperation in the soft sigh that left them clearly audible in his words; "mein Schatz, we are just going to enjoy the midsummer festivities. Regarding the secret spot, do you not trust me?" Holding out a hand towards him, crimson eyes gazing softly with trust and kindness; they all sent a pang to Arthur's heart, filling him with some inner warmth that he had not felt since the cold serpent in him sunk its venomous fangs into his blood and poisoned his mind. _

Gilbert had brought it _all _back that day: joy, sadness, calm, everything that the sandy blond was convinced was gone—the albino proved that they were hidden, not ash and dust. The goddamned officer he had been told to frame: just _why _did it have to be the one person he had made unforgettable memories with and be indebted to? If there was a God, or a deity, Arthur was certain that he was made to be the most wretched of fools.

_They were back at the tree again; or to be more precise, the lake where they had first met as children, and the same place where they had their unlikely reunion this year in spring. The still waters on the lake reflected the clear, starry sky above; a perfect night, to gaze at the stars or; be trapped in a house alone with no light at all, save for the faint rays of moonlight._

_Yet, the latter thought did not bring a chill to the sandy blonde's chest tonight—oddly enough, the haunting voices never surfaced whenever Gilbert was around. As though the albino's mere presence was enough to chase away the vicious serpent that reminded him of the past and the future he deserved._

_"I don't suppose you can still remember the promise we made here all those years ago," Gilbert laughed softly, a gentle smile that contrasted the shit-eating grin he often had, crimson eyes carried a hint of nostalgia in them as they gazed out towards the horizon._

_Frowning, "Promise? What promise?" Arthur answered, raising an eyebrow._

_"That we would be friends forever…no matter what." The albino replied softly, as if the words were meant more for himself than to his companion. "it was the first time that someone was willing to trust and befriend me…" another chuckle, "but this time, I want to make this promise to you."_

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**_"I'll be with you, forever and ever."_**

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**A/N. :welp, I somehow managed to drag my sorry bottom to go about doing this...leave a review, fav or prompt! Hopefully I'll manage to get the other half of this done soon. XD oh well...kind of sad that no one really liked the capital before this but its okay. :D /rolls away like a little kitten**


	14. Kapitel 14

**I do not own Hetalia or its characters.**

_A/N. I know I should post the three drabbles, but my mind kept pushing me to write this instead. Plus, I feel that the three drabbles haven't been fully completed and good enough for a chapter…I hope you all will like this one however. It was written when I was trying to get back onto my feet after the sudden passing of my friend and classmate. (I'm referring to the emergency post I made on the 29__th__)._

_There is actually a personal story behind this, but I'm going to only tell those who want to know more as I don't feel entirely comfortable publishing it outright on the net in a chapter. _

_I guess—this would make it the indirect, personal memorial I dedicate in his memory._

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**Picture/Portrait **

**_(This takes place some time after the first Kapitel of the series.)_**

_"__However, its too late._

_The 'you' in the picture doesn't exist."_

_—__The Portrait Glassred Drew_

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It was said that a good portrait was able to 'capture' the soul of a person, to be able to depict the inner essence of the subject and not just the likeness of the one being drawn or painted on a surface using ink or pigment. Just as the eyes were the windows to a person's very being; a perfectly done portrait would bring forth the same message the artist meant to convey to others who would see it. A fair, honest, realistic portrayal of the subject—but, still staying true to the fact that inner significance was the focus of it all—would set apart a mediocre piece of work from one of better quality; it was a difficult skill, yet once learnt, it would stay forever.

However, like everything else of this world, it could also bring pain. Inner pain to the artist who created it, pain to the ones who received it, pain to others who would come across it; the skill was a double-edged sword in its own way.

Gilbert wished he could gouge out his own eyes. But even blind, the albino knew he would still be able to perceive his world; besides, as a nation, he would regain his sight again after a while.

The portrait before the albino was not an ugly one, or depicted a person with an ugliness in his being—it was the total opposite; soft gentleness hidden behind a somewhat rough and roguish appearance, a warm smile tucked away in emerald irises that held a clear, strong and confident gaze—it was not the face of a cold-blooded, ruthless killer who was blinded by power. Arthur Kirkland, for all his shortcomings was no such demon.

Or was he? Just that Gilbert had not seen it all along; in the years they were friends, partners and lovers. That Arthur had kept all his darker secrets away from the priest who was the representation of a weaker nation back then.

_"__I hate you swine of a man!"_

The betrayal and hatred behind the words still stung at his heart even after Arthur had been brought back from the sea by his brother, Allistair; the personification of Scotland. Gilbert made a request for the Scottish redhead to do so—despite all the evidence that put the Brit's sibling's in a bad light, the Prussian knew that when it came to family, they would, in a heartbeat, help whichever one of them was in need of assistance. Furthermore, Arthur would need medical help once he was recovered from the depths of the sea, and Allistair was the only one who was the best at healing magic.

'I should put this away…' the albino told himself mentally; his teeth worrying away at the corner of his lip, a hand grabbed the protective muslin on the easel and covered the portraiture expertly without much thought about the act—he'd done it so many times, it had become second nature to him.

It was not a fact that was known to many, or worth boasting to others; Gilbert was fairly good at illustrating—faces, landscape, and architecture—the albino found it fairly enjoyable to observe and sketch out anything that caught his eye over the day into his journal. It was much easier to remember and record the day's events that way; rather than store everything into his mind and to pen them down on paper before bed; he could sketch a small scene and annotate it.

He'd drawn that portrait of Arthur using his memory; to be more precise, he had drawn the sandy blonde based on what the man was to him. There were no sittings for it, just Gilbert's observation and interpretation of what his friend, lover and ultimately, cause of heartache was to him.

There was a bitter irony about the way how things turned out: when he was a still a priest—a ducal state—he had, as Julchen described his expression when she tried to push him into presenting the gift; embarrassment and shyness that was the equivalent of a noble lady being asked to bed her lover before even going through marriage rites. Yet, when he had finally decided to give the sandy blonde the piece of work that had been kept away for years…

The man in the picture no longer existed—Arthur had changed, so much so that Gilbert wondered if the Brit was away and sent a cleverly disguised impersonator, but a poor actor of who he really was.

_'__But it no longer matters now does it?' _Weary crimson eyes roamed around the darkened room that had frames of work kept in good condition and organized such that it would put Francis to shame if the Frenchman ever found this trove.

A life-like render of his vater; Germania—Gilbert had been unable to remember much of his true father's face, he had been a little too young to fully recall Aestii's appearance save for the Ancient's eyes that was the only trait shared between parent and child.

A simple, but took the longest to finish rendering, a charcoal sketch of his twin.

The rest lay in their respective places with cloth draped over them; some faces were better left unseen, forgotten, after the work was completed. As much as Gilbert could handle seeing death on the battlefield, it was often the unnerving, still, soul-seeing, intent and fixated look that sent shivers down his spine. It was as if, the dead never really left, but had a lingering connection with the world of the living through their painted visage.

Locking the door behind him, the Prussian let out a sigh of regret. He should burn them all—what use was there, holding on to all the drawings he had made with no recipient in mind; or the recipients having passed on before him? The only answer he had was simple: because he was still, human. After all the centuries of war, of horror and blood—all that he had left, were the memories of the people he kept close to his heart and what they meant to him.

And as a human, he commemorated them in his own way; a final farewell and a way to tell their story of life to others. After all, even if he could not meet them again, he still had his story to write and draw for himself.

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**A/n. Well, that's it for this Kapitel for now; I'll be heading off on a hiatus that will end on the 9****th**** of March (I've received my examination schedule: the first paper being on the 29****th**** of February). The reason why I choose to go off on hiatus here is because it takes a while—as you all have to experience, and I can only apologise for—for me to plan, draft, complete, polish and finally publish a chapter. All I can do is to honestly do my best and thank you all from the bottom of my heart for being patient and supporting me here on this journey.**

**That said, I mentioned in the story summary of this drabble series that I would be online and posting on my Tumblr that can be found on my profile (PLEASE SEARCH USING THE LINK, THERE ARE MANY KORNBLUME CAVALIERS OUT THERE ON THE WEB. I CHECKED.) Its entirely up to you all to check it out, but I'll be there posting wips and notices as I don't want to spam all of you with messages on and having to post and delete notices all the time on this drabble series; it's going to be very irritating—at least, I would find it annoying if I was the reader and an author kept posting notices on what I thought would be a new chapter /sweats/.**

**I wish you all the best in life, Kornblume Cavalier.**


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